Leaving Home
by DiscoTeriyaki
Summary: Dib doesn't want anything more to do with Invader Zim, and the best way to do that is to go as far away as possible for college. But the winter break cross-country road trip he has planned to tour those colleges quickly takes a turn when he finds an annoying green stowaway in his backseat. What better time than a long boring drive to try and set things right?
1. Chapter 1

The first snow of the year came exceptionally late at halfway through December, but now it had yet to stop. Sometimes it was a sparkling haze, sometimes fat globs, and sometimes there were wide gaps between flakes, but never once did it fully quit. Dib could hear roofs groaning under the weight of it, and a fresh layer of salt crunched under his boots as he meandered along the sidewalk.

The first half of his senior year was already over. So many other things were over, too: listening to the football schedule on the student announcements each morning, being badgered by his father about attending Homecoming to appear somewhat normal, kicking at fall leaves as he crossed the blacktop when the day was through. Watching Zim scoff at each and every fall festivity, knocking pumpkin spice lattes out of people's hands and ironically boarding up his neon house of horrors at Halloween.

Dib shook his head, in part to rid his hair of snow as he entered his home. He tugged off his soaking boots and heaved a sigh; he promised himself he'd quit thinking about that stupid alien. After what he'd pulled, he should never be more of a distraction in Dib's mind than a passing gnat.

Besides, he had college to think about. Admittedly, he had started thinking about it a little late—several of his classmates had gone on college visits over the summer and already had their plans squared away. Yet, here he was, not even sure what he wanted to major in.

That was why he was taking a winter break road trip. After Christmas, he'd head out on his own for the remainder of break, giving him a full week and a half to drive around the country visiting schools. He was surprised his father let him do it, since he'd only had his license for a year and a half. But the professor had been overjoyed that his son was finally concentrating on the pursuit of "real life" and, just maybe, "real science"—and he'd equipped Dib with the latest GPS technology and a cell phone to help him do it.

Dib entered his room and flopped down on his back on the bed. He should have gone to his computer to research more schools he'd like to visit, but he wasn't in the mood. Then he remembered how itchy and uncomfortable he'd gotten from the wet snow soaking through his clothes and sat back up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He planted the false one on the stained carpet and hiked up his jeans as high over his left knee as they would go. He pulled down the tight sock, like spandex, but softer, and untied some lacing so the prosthetic could fall free. At last he was able to scratch at the stump of his thigh, the scar tissue blushing to a darker hue as it warmed with irritation from the long nails of his right hand.

Next came the arm. He took off his trench coat; wearing only the t-shirt underneath would make the process easier. Much like his leg, he pulled down the soft, elastic sock, untying laces where he needed to. The arm came free, and he leaned it against his bedside table next to his leg. He itched that tissue back to life, too.

Dib was eager for Christmas, if nothing else. His father had hinted there were some better prosthetics in the works. And maybe even some special, super-advanced ointment to help lighten the scarring around his face and neck. Or at least minimize the infernal itching.

"Shit," Dib sighed. "Hey, Gaz!"

"What?" his sister called apathetically from her room across the hall.

"It's time for my pain meds, but I forgot to grab them," he said.

"You already took yourself apart like a moron, didn't you?" she groaned. He was silent, which she thankfully took as confirmation, and he soon heard her footsteps—or stomps, rather—moving up the hallway to the bathroom. Then she was a shadow in his doorway with a pill container and a glass of water in hand.

"Thanks," Dib said, taking the water glass. "Uh, sorry, can you open the bottle? You have to press down and turn, so…"

She scoffed but held the bottle in one hand and cranked the lid off with the other. A simple, thoughtless action. She handed it to him.

"Thanks," he repeated, quieter. He shook a single tablet out onto his nightstand, tossed it into his mouth, and chased it down with the lukewarm water.

"Anything else?" she questioned, hands on her hips. Even though she was moody as ever, she had gained a slightly greater level of patience with her brother since the incident.

"Nah, I'm okay. Let me know if you order pizza later?"

"Sure, whatever," she said, exiting his room. She must be a little bit happy, he thought, because unless he bothered to put on his prosthetics again, she'd have the downstairs TV all to herself for the night. He almost smiled as his head fell back against the wall. The medicine always made him drowsy.

* * *

 **A/N:** Heyo! It's my first time posting to FF in a long time and MAN did I forget how weird the upload system can be! On my first try this chapter was all HTML and I was like "that is NOT very cash money of you, FF."

Hope you guys like this. I have the story pretty much written so I'll be putting new chapters up pretty regularly. Leave your thoughts in the reviews or ask me questions if you want! I love getting to talk Zim-it was my favorite cartoon for a long time (still is, honestly). ALSO I'M HECKIN PUMPED FOR THE MOVIE. K, I'm done, see ya later.


	2. Chapter 2

Dib's hypothesis about better prosthetics was correct. On Christmas morning, he unwrapped a leg made of a clear plastic that had a similar weight to his remaining leg; it felt much more natural than his old prosthetic. The ankle joint also had greater dexterity, to help with balance.

His father had outdone himself on the arm, however. He took Dib down to the lab to fully attach it. The outer layer was completely waterproof—it needed to be, since it would hopefully be a permanent attachment. After the uncomfortable process was complete, the professor had Dib perform a few rudimentary motions. Dib was amazed to see that he could command the fingers, wrist, and elbow to bend and flex at will. It didn't react as perfectly as his normal arm would have, but it was leagues better than the jointless plastic he'd been wearing before. He moved to embrace his father, but the professor stopped him and simply patted his head instead, not wanting him to test the new arm too vigorously.

"I hope to have a permanent leg attachment ready for you early next year as well. For now, I have just a few more things for you," the professor said. He pulled out a tube of whitish gel. "This may help reduce the visibility of your scarring."

"Thank you, Dad," Dib sighed, grateful that he had a father who could churn out such advanced technologies for him on a whim.

"One last thing," the professor said. He disappeared for a moment and when he returned he held a rectangular package that Dib took into his lap. He carefully removed the shiny paper to reveal a thick zippered case made of faded brown leather. He unzipped it and was surprised to find it full of CDs, tucked away in transparent plastic sleeves.

His father spoke before he could ask about it. "Those belonged to you mother. I thought you could use them more than I could, since you're going on this trip."

"These…were Mom's?" Dib asked, almost in a whisper. He leafed through the weighty pages, taking in the assortment of albums and movie soundtracks from the 60s to the 90s. Some he knew, most he didn't—he'd never been much of an audiophile. Not like his mother had apparently been.

His father simply nodded. He cleared his throat. "Son, I'm happy you're striking out on your own in the pursuit of higher knowledge. After…well, it's good to see you're still looking forward."

Dib stared at his father, trying to read any emotion past the thick safety goggles. The moment ended when the professor put a hand on his son's shoulder and suggested they head back upstairs before Gaz had a chance to eat all the Christmas cookies.


	3. Chapter 3

Dib hit the road early the next morning and, before he knew it, the only city he'd ever known had vanished behind him. He marveled at the massive improvements in his prosthetic arm: now, instead of merely helping hold the wheel in place, he could actually grip it and even perform the hand-over-hand motion of turning a corner. He didn't realize how much he'd missed such simple luxuries. But he was loving it.

A rest stop came into view and Dib pulled off to fill his tank and take a restroom break. He bought Pop-Tarts from a vending machine and sat on a bench in a small waiting area to eat them. A mother corralled her two children away from the same vending machine, but before they had exited the building she returned to buy them each a candy bar. They beamed up at her and each child took a hand as they crossed the parking lot together.

Back in his car, Dib put his key in the ignition, but didn't turn on the engine. He'd been driving in silence for three hours. Taking a breath, he twisted around to grab the old leather case that had belonged to his mother.

And then a cackling green shape shot out of the rumpled blankets behind the passenger seat. Dib shrieked in horror and banged his head on the roof of the car as he jerked backwards.

"Ha HA!" Zim laughed, jabbing a triumphant claw in Dib's direction. "I have you alone at last, Earth-stink!"

Dib took a few shaking breaths to steady himself, his fear quickly replaced by rage. "What the FUCK are you doing here?"

"I snuck aboard your filthy land-craft to gather reconnaissance," Zim replied, crossing his arms.

"And you only thought to jump out just now?" Dib questioned. "What'd you do, get comfortable and take a nap in my blankets?"

If he hadn't been wearing his disguise, perhaps Zim's awkward glance to the side would've slipped past Dib. But those fake purple irises gave him away.

"You moron," Dib groaned. "Get the hell out of my car. I told you never to come near me again."

"Oh, come on," Zim huffed, clambering over the center console to perch on the passenger seat. "Don't tell me you're _still_ mad about that." Then he peered at the articulated hand peeking out of Dib's jacket sleeve. "Look! You've got a much better appendage now than the stupid fleshy one you had before. You should be grateful to Zim!"

Dib's vision was tinted red at the edges. "If you don't get out of my car _right now_ I'm going to strangle you with my 'better appendage.'"

"I'd like to see you try," Zim sneered.

Dib was about to grab Zim by his skinny neck when he realized what the alien was up to—he wanted to get a rise out of Dib, but he wasn't going to get it. Instead, Dib reached into the backseat. He produced his mother's CD case and selected one at random—Disc 2 of the Forrest Gump special edition soundtrack. He slid it into the stereo, buckled in, and revved up the engine. They were on the highway moments later, with nothing but the sound of "Volunteers" between them.

Zim pressed his hands to the window, watching the trees zoom by just beyond the asphalt. Then he twisted around in his seat, watching the world in reverse. Finally, he turned back around, feet folded underneath him.

"Where have you taken us, stink-beast?" he questioned. Dib was silent, memorizing the license plate of the semi just ahead of them.

"Hey!" Zim shouted. "You dare ignore ZIM? I demand to know our course of travel!"

Dib turned the music up. Then he nearly swerved into the car in the passing lane when he felt the sharp slap of a rubber-gloved hand across this cheek.

"Alright!" he shouted, pulling onto the shoulder. A few cars honked as they sped past. He exited the car, walked around the front and yanked open the passenger door. He grabbed ahold of Zim and hurled the tiny alien out. Zim let himself hit the snow-covered ground, as some divine inspiration told him not to use his PAK legs and draw the attention of passing cars. Then Dib was upon him, pinning him to the ground. He smacked the alien hard across the face, the false eyes glazing over in disorientation.

"Don't come near me and don't _fucking_ touch me _ever_ again. Got it?" Dib shouted, pressing down hard on the alien body that felt so fragile beneath his adult one.

But the fragility was an illusion. Zim forced a knee up into Dib's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The alien shoved Dib over into the snow and righted himself so that he stood over the human.

"How dare you strike an Irken elite," Zim growled, pressing at his bruising cheek.

Dib let out a humorless laugh. "I'd like to do a lot more!"

"As would I, for trying to shirk me off this past year," Zim yelled back.

"How stupid can you be?" Dib said, sitting up and batting snow off of his jacket. "Why are you surprised that I don't want to see you anymore? And why does it matter? Taking over the Earth should be so much easier with me out of the picture! Isn't that what you _wanted?"_

"But you're not out of the picture, Dib," Zim said. "You're still here. Which means I haven't destroyed you. Which means I can't move forward with my plans for this nasty rock until I formulate the perfect scheme for your _ultimate doom!"_

Dib glared at his old adversary for a moment, until he realized how cold he was from sitting in the snow. He stood, towering almost two feet over Zim, and went back to his car.

"So, I can get a ride back now, right?" came Zim's presumptuous voice from behind him.

Dib turned around. "No, Zim. You can either walk a hundred and fifty miles back or ride with me everywhere I go."

Zim sucked at his teeth, peering back down the long stretch of highway as though he expected to see the city looming just on the horizon. Meanwhile, Dib rounded his car and got inside, restarting the engine. He was thankful the heat didn't take long to get going and held his natural hand to the vent.

The passenger door opened. Dib shot a look over at Zim, who stood in the doorway.

"So if I just go on whatever stupid trip you're taking, I get a ride?" Zim asked.

"Sarcasm, Zim. Look it up," Dib said.

Zim shifted from foot to foot in the snow, clearly getting cold. "I could be of use to your mission."

"What?"

"Yes, Zim is an excellent pilot with a superior sense of direction. I'm basically a walking navigational chart. It would be stupid _not_ to take me."

Dib stared at the alien shivering in the wind and snow. And then a familiar buzzing started in the back of his skull: one of the Swollen Eyeball's headquarters was located on the West Coast, where Dib was heading; if he took Zim with him, he could inform them of the situation ahead of time and finally be able to guarantee evidence; and if they all worked together, he could finally see to it that Invader Zim would wind up on an autopsy table where he belonged.

Dib could barely contain his smile. "Fine. But if you mess anything up and nearly get me killed again, that's it. I don't care where we are, your ass is getting pitched out through the sunroof. Got it?"

"Zim takes no orders from filthy apes," Zim said, but quickly came around when Dib reached for the gear shift. "Except on every other December 26th! Now, let's get moving!" He hopped into the passenger seat and shut the door, rubbing his gloved hands together.

"Put your seatbelt on," Dib sighed, shifting his car back into drive. This trip was going to be…a trip.


	4. Chapter 4

"What on Irk are we listening to?" Zim groused about three minutes later.

"Music," Dib said.

"Mewwwww-sick," Zim said. "Why?"

"Helps pass the time," Dib replied.

"Feh," Zim grunted. "A pathetic human like you has no control over the flow of time."

Dib rolled his eyes. "Well, it makes it _feel_ like it's going by faster. And it's…" he realized that, since Zim had surprised him, he hadn't had the chance to form an opinion about the music. Or about the woman who once listened to it.

His imagination ran away with him. He was in the backseat, watching long black hair flutter to the beat of the air from the open windows. Long fingers tapped away at the steering wheel as Scott McKenzie sang about San Francisco. The sunlight was warm and soft, like the voice that grew fainter every time he tried to remember it.

"Who's 'Martina?'" Zim asked.

"Huh?" Dib said, a shock running up his spine. He threw a glance over at Zim, who had at some point reached into the backseat and pulled out his mother's CD case. The alien had opened it in his lap, and Dib saw strangely jagged cursive that read "Martina Ruiz" on the back cover flap. His mother's maiden name.

The shock of seeing his mother's handwriting for the first time made Dib forget to yell at Zim for rifling through his things. "That's…my mother's name."

"Eh? You have one of those?" Zim questioned.

"All humans do, idiot."

"Then where do you keep yours? Locked in the cellar? I've never seen her before, and nothing escapes the superior perception of Zim!"

"No, no," Dib said, exasperated. "She's dead."

"Ah," Zim said. "Premature explosion."

"What? No, Zim, why do you think humans explode all the time? Don't answer that," he cut across the alien before he had time to explain himself. "I mean, yeah, she died kind of young. But it was after she left, so it doesn't really matter."

"Left for what? A mission?"

"Oh my God, how have you been on Earth this long and still have no concept of human behavior?" Dib groaned. "She just left, okay? I don't know why. Next time I heard any news about her was a recorded message from Dad saying that she died. It all happened before you got here."

No sound came from the passenger seat for a few moments. Zim closed up the case and put it back behind his seat.

"So the reason you're forcing me to endure this pointless music is because it belonged to your dead deserter maternal unit," Zim said. "How idiotic."

Dib's natural hand had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "You're just a disgusting alien with no concept of emotion. You wouldn't understand."

"I understand enough of human emotion to know that I want no part of it," Zim replied. "It's all so needlessly messy and it's crippled the progression of your species. Though, I must admit, it's been entertaining to figure out all the different ways one can break the human psyche by exploiting your wretched _feelings."_

"You're sick."

"No, thankfully," Zim said. "It's so taxing to stay away from human germs this time of year."

Dib grit his teeth and decided not to humor Zim by continuing the conversation. Instead, he counted the white lines separating his lane from the other as they zipped by. It was another hundred and fifty miles before he reached his stopping point for the day. He missed how peacefully the first hundred and fifty had gone by and wondered if he could tolerate the long, long days of driving to the West Coast with Zim ahead of him.

 _"_ _It's been entertaining to figure out all the different ways one can break the human psyche by exploiting your wretched feelings."_

Zim's words echoed in Dib's brain and, with a newfound spark of determination, he decided that no matter what this alien did or said, he wouldn't let his spirit be broken. No—the only thing that would be broken at the end of this trip would be Zim, lying split open and screaming on an autopsy table.


	5. Chapter 5

They stopped in the middle of Illinois for the night, with no major arguments or incidents occurring for the remainder of the trip. It was mostly just Zim complaining at how bland the flat wintry landscape was, or at how stupid the music sounded, or at how poorly other humans operated their "ships." Dib checked into the quaint motel he'd reserved a few days prior and went back to his car to fetch his overnight bag. Zim stood next to the car, stretching.

"I assume you've secured us suitable hovel for the night," he said.

"Us?" Dib asked, incredulously. "I got _myself_ a room. If you want one, you can get it yourself."

"WHAT?" Zim screeched. "Zim carries no filthy human monies!"

"Guess you're sleeping in the car then. Have fun freezing your ass off," Dib said, walking off toward his room.

"Fine!" Zim shouted after him. "Zim needs no help from a stinking _human!_ I'll find the warmest, most comfortable resting spot in this backwater town and make you rue the day you left _Zim_ in the cold!"

Dib didn't hear much else of the alien's tirade after he shut the door. He sighed in relief at finally being alone again. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Swollen Eyeball.

The calls always began with the riddle of the sphinx. "What walks on four legs at dawn, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?"

"Man in infancy, adulthood, and old age," Dib answered.

"This is Agent Thunderbird," the woman on the other end said. "State your alias and business."

"Agent Mothman," Dib said. "I'm calling in with some new evidence of extraterrestrial life."

"Oh. Mothman," Thunderbird said, her formal tone deflating. "Haven't heard from _you_ in a while. Got more blurry green smudges to send us?"

Dib felt himself flush red. "He's hard to get a clear shot of! But, listen, I have Zi—the _extraterrestrial_ traveling with me right now and we'll be on the West Coast by New Year's Eve. If I can have the Swollen Eyeball's support, we could work together to expose this alien once and for all. You'll see with your own eyes I've been telling the truth all along!" He shouted the last part before he could control himself.

Thunderbird gave a long sigh. "I'll have to get approval from some of the higher ups. That may take a few days, being the holidays and all."

"Whatever, fine!" Dib said. "Just as long as we have a plan in place by New Year's. We've gotta be organized; he's a tough one to catch."

"But you just said you have this E.T. travelling with you. Seems like you have the capture situation more or less under control."

"For now, yeah," Dib said, the last of his patience dwindling. "But, please, just get my report to whoever needs to hear it and let me know when the next steps are ready. You can trace my number and contact me at it anytime."

"Or I could just, like, write it down," she said.

"But what about protecting the identities of—,"

"Do you want me to call you back or not, Mothman?"

Dib sighed and rattled off his number.

"Great. I'll pencil you in on the 'Earth-shattering paranormal discoveries' agenda. If I can find my pencil," she said drowsily. "Thunderbird out."

The call cut out and Dib shut the phone. He finally had a moment to take in the room: it was nice enough, with a not-too-lumpy bed and a dresser with a tube TV squatting on top. There was hair in the shower drain and some mold in the grouting, but those details didn't bother him after the festering swamp of athlete's foot that was his high school's locker room.

He turned on the shower, the water reaching just above lukewarm, and for the first time in over a year he ran two hands through his hair as he lathered it with shampoo. It was still a balancing act, since he had to remove his prosthetic leg, and he took a few breaks to sit, but he felt normal. He never realized how normal he had been before, or that he would miss normalcy. But here he was, relishing the unspectacular ability to hold a washcloth in one hand while squeezing soap into it with the other.

An unexpected wave of sorrow crashed into Dib's thin frame and left him sobbing as the water rained down in its steady stream. He clutched his torso in his arms and bent double over the tub, perched on its thin rim. He slogged through memories of the past several months of pain and reconditioning, of his mother's music, which had surrounded him for nearly four hours after a lifetime of silence, and of Zim. Stupid, stupid Zim, who destroyed half of his body without a thought or regret and who now dared to ask favors of him: _give me a ride, give me a place to stay, give me your undivided attention._

"Idiot," Dib said, at last in control of his breathing. He palmed at his eyes, even though the shower had already washed his tears down the drain. He swung his body around and toweled off, replacing his leg. He was grateful for the thin layer of steam on the mirror that clouded his reflection as he redressed.

Using the hotel phone, Dib ordered a pizza and flipped on the TV. It hummed to life and he half-smiled when he saw that a rerun of Mysterious Mysteries was on. He stretched out on the bed and had nearly dozed off by the time the delivery man knocked on the door.

As Dib paid, he glanced over the man's shoulder at his car in the parking lot. There was no sign of Zim.

"Hey, weird question," Dib said. "But did you see an odd-looking guy out there when you pulled in? Really short, greenish skin?"

"Uh, maybe," the man said, counting Dib's change. "I saw a midget-looking guy go into the bar across the street. Thought it was a kid at first when I drove past."

"Oh, got it. Thanks," Dib said. He ignored the man's look and said nothing more as he shut the door. His stomach sank as he accepted that there was going to be trouble tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Dib scarfed down a slice of pizza as he walked through the motel parking lot and across the street to the bar. It was a lowkey dive place, so there were no bouncers at the door to ID him. He stepped just inside the door and immediately spotted Zim near the back, apparently in a heated argument with two larger men at a pool table.

"Well, if you don't like the odds, why don't you fight me?" Zim shouted.

One of the men laughed. "No thanks, little man. I have a rule about not hitting anyone smaller than my dog."

Zim bit at his upper lip with his ridged teeth, a sign of the quiet fury that came when someone had truly made him angry. Jokes about his size usually elicited that response. Dib knew he was powerless to stop whatever happened next.

Zim hopped up on the pool table and swiped a claw across the joking man's face. He appeared shocked, as it had happened in a blink, but his friend stepped in to swing at the alien, who jump-roped over his arm and gave the back of his head a punch. Soon, though, the two combined their forces and pummeled Zim to the ground.

They each took ahold of one of Zim's arms and Dib realized they would be heading to the front door to chuck him out. He rushed back outside and rounded the corner of the building to hide. As he pressed his back to the cold red brick, he heard the sloppy sound of Zim's body hitting the slushy sidewalk. The two men cussed at him a bit before the door slammed and it was quiet.

Dib peeked around the corner and saw that Zim had pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The alien sniffed and coughed, then got to his feet. His wig was askew and his chest heaved with angry breaths. He started kicking at piles of snow, growling through bared teeth.

Dib finally stepped out of hiding. "What the hell, Zim?"

The alien jumped and rounded on him. "What do _you_ want, Earth-stink?" Impossibly pink blood stained the corner of his mouth.

"I _want_ you to not make a scene when I leave you alone for ten minutes! You're gonna get me in trouble and I won't be able to finish my trip," Dib said.

"Good! Then we can leave this horrible town and go home to our horrible city! I hate this," Zim groused.

"Well, maybe you should've thought of that before you snuck into my car like a dipshit! But you're not capable of logical thinking, so of _course_ you'd do something stupid like this," Dib shot back.

"I'M NOT STUPID," Zim roared, causing Dib to flinch back. "I'M NOT STUPID, I'M NOT SHORT, AND I'M NOT DEFECTIVE AND ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE IS AN IDIOT!"

 _Defective?_

"Zim, will you shut up? The whole state's gonna hear you," Dib said. "Come on. Let's go to the room."

"Eh?" Zim grunted, springing out of his meltdown.

"Just come on," Dib said, not waiting for Zim to follow him. He could feel the headache that had subsided in the shower throbbing back to life.

Back in the room, Zim stood shivering on the patch of vinyl flooring at the entryway while Dib returned to his bed and his now cooled pizza. Mysterious Mysteries was still on, so he focused on that instead of the shaking alien in the doorway.

"I don't know why you felt the need to come find me," Zim said suddenly.

Dib licked the grease from his fingers, not looking away from the show. "Like I said, I don't want you to ruin this trip for me. Best way to do that is to keep you in sight."

"What is this trip, anyway?" Zim asked.

"I'm looking for schools."

"Why? You already have one."

"No, like colleges. Higher education."

"There's _more?"_ Zim shrieked. "How much of your pathetic lives do you humans spend in _school?"_

"Quit freaking out," Dib sighed. "You do it to get skills for the job you want and to make more money. But you don't _have_ to do it."

"Job," Zim said. "You mean you have to go to a special, extra school to be a food service drone?"

"No, dumbass, you do it so you don't _have_ to be a food service—a fast food worker," Dib said, catching himself mid-phrase. "You go to college to learn how to be a scientist like my dad, or a teacher like Ms. Bitters, or…I dunno, a reporter on TV," he gestured to the television.

"So which of those do _you_ want to be?" Zim asked.

Dib was silent, thrown by the question and the fact that Zim was asking it. In all the time he'd planned this trip, the top priority in his college research was finding schools far away from Zim. He hadn't given much thought to the direction he wanted to steer his life, only that college was the next logical exit to take.

"I don't think I'll bother with this college nonsense," Zim said, breaking his train of thought. "I've already been a scientist and a teacher and on TV."

Dib gave a breathy laugh. "But you could discover your true calling."

"I know my true calling. I am…an Invader," Zim said. Dib didn't understand the hesitation in his voice. Zim never hesitated.

He bypassed it and gave Zim his full attention. "What do you mean, you've been a scientist and a teacher?"

"I teach GIR things all the time because he's useless," Zim said. "And many years before I gained the rank of Elite I was a scientist. How else would I create all my amazing inventions for my brilliant schemes?"

Dib rolled his eyes and grabbed another slice of pizza. As he ate, Zim tiptoed deeper into the room, heading for a rocking chair next to the dresser. He watched as the alien unblinkingly scanned his surroundings after each step, mouth ajar as he took in the foreign smells. Then he made it to the chair and perched on it, taking one final scan before reaching up to his wig.

His eyes trained on Dib. "Take out a camera and you die," he said.

Dib held up his hands defensively, mentally cursing himself for leaving his camera in the trunk of the car. Zim plucked off his wig, his antennae springing up from their flattened position against his skull and twitching about as they stretched. Then came the glassy contact lenses, revealing the pupil-less magenta shine of his true eyes. Even after all these years, Dib felt a little spooked by those eyes beneath his curiosity—he could never tell exactly where they were looking.

Zim rubbed at his eyes, wincing at the swell of bruising around the right one from being punched in the bar. His wormlike tongue tested the drying cut at the corner of his mouth. Then his antennae stuck straight up and Dib knew Zim was angry to find him ogling. Dib quickly returned his attention to watching television and finishing the last of his dinner. He yawned and peered at the clock. It was almost ten. And he had let Zim into the room.

"So, uh," Dib said. "I'm gonna go to sleep soon."

"What a surprise," Zim said.

Dib grimaced. "Just don't do anything, okay? If I wake up to you trying to stick a probe in my ear or something, I'll beat the shit out of you. And don't go anywhere. If you're not here when I'm ready to go in the morning, you can find your own way home."

"You've been in a very _give-Zim-orders_ kind of mood today, stink-beast," Zim said, clenching his fists. "I don't know why you think you have the authority to do that."

"I'll tell you why," Dib said, sitting up straighter. "Because you need me to get home, and you're lucky that I haven't already chucked you to the side of the road. And I'm through playing your games, Zim. After what you did, I promised myself I'd never get roped into your schemes again, even if the Earth was in danger. I don't care anymore. That's why I'm gonna make sure after this trip, I stay as far away from you as possible. I…" his voice shook, and he made sure to look into Zim's soulless eyes as squarely as he could. "I hate you."

Dib had said those three words many, many times to Zim over their near-decade of fighting each other. The words felt like the heat and sting of bile rising up through his chest and his skull buzzed with it, because this time he wanted to make sure Zim understood how much he meant it. It wasn't a joke, it wasn't tossed out in random frustration. It was real.

While it was difficult for Dib to read Zim's eyes without his disguise, the Irken had another tell. His antennae drew back against his skull—he was truly disquieted, maybe even afraid.

He quickly recovered himself and nonchalantly waved a hand in Dib's direction, shutting his eyes. "That's all well and good, Dib. But it's nothing I haven't heard before. After all," he reopened his eyes, focusing on Dib. "Everybody hates Zim."


	7. Chapter 7

As much as he wanted to not get involved for once, Dib knew that Zim was in the midst of yet another plot and he felt the need to stop it. For the past several days after school, he'd seen the alien rush off in the opposite direction of his base, and after several tries Dib had managed to tail him all the way to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. It had a tall brick smokestack that had been dormant for decades, and its parking lot and sidewalks were overgrown with young trees and weeds.

Today, Dib would stop the invader from completing whatever evil deed he was plotting. He found the small entrance that Zim had sliced open with his PAK lasers and managed to squeeze his way through—not as easy as it had been when they were nearly the same size. At first he saw nothing more than rusted out machinery and a floor covered in dust and broken glass. But soon he noticed a pinkish glow near the back and hurried toward it as quietly as he could.

He peered around a corner and saw a complex framework of interconnecting glass tubes and chambers filled with a brilliant, bubbling pink substance. It all led to a sort of metal holding tank with a steadily rising fill meter and what he could only assume was a countdown in Irken numbers. What was it? Some sort of bomb? Fuel for a giant mech suit? A dastardly replacement for strawberry cupcake icing?

Zim was nowhere to be seen, so Dib stepped into the open, snapping pictures with the flash off as he went. He noticed a control panel and whipped out his trusty military-grade laptop: time to do some hacking. His glasses flashed with lines of Irken security codes that he was probably more familiar with by now than the alien technicians who had originally crafted them.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Dib nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard GIR's childish, metallic voice from behind him. The little robot's eyes cast a blue glow on Dib's dark clothing, the hood of his dog suit hanging heavily on his back.

"Uh," Dib said, searching for any sign of Zim in the gloom. "Just putting in some codes to make the goo more…jiggly?"

"Ooooo, I like jiggly! Jiggly like a wiggly piggy at the Piggly Wiggly!" GIR squealed.

"How do you even know what a Piggly Wiggly is, there aren't any up here," Dib wondered aloud. He glanced back at the codes scrolling past—he was close. "Well, anyway, little robo-guy, I'm gonna get back to work, so…don't tell Zim I'm here."

"Okee dokee!" GIR said. Then, to Dib's chagrin, he screamed. "HEY MASTER, THE BIG-HEAD GUY WANTED ME TO TELL YOU HE ISN'T HERE!"

"Shit," Dib muttered, typing faster. The Irken insignia popped up on his computer, indicating that he had access to the machine's database. He knew he didn't have much time, so he started key-smashing in every open command prompt he came to, trying to create as much chaos as possible.

"It's cute how you think doing that is going to alter the course of my plans for this planet's ultimate doom," Zim said. Dib spotted the alien standing atop the holding chamber, his contacts glowing magenta in the half-dark as they reflected the pink substance flowing all around him.

"Well, it's stupid of you to think I won't find some way to stop you like I always do," Dib shot back. "I've already hacked into your machine! Your bomb thingy is going to fail once I finish messing with the code!"

"Bomb thingy?" Zim laughed maniacally, tossing his head back. "This is no _bomb!_ It's a pump that's slowly draining a super-acidic substance into the Earth, where it will eventually react with the planet's molten core and cause worldwide volcanic eruptions of pure pink _dooky!"_ He was sent into another fit of laughter, clenching his fists at the evilness of it all.

Just then, the holding tank reached its fill limit. With a deafening gurgle, it drained its contents into what was apparently already a sizeable hole underneath it. There was no telling how deep it went, how close to the core it had already eaten its way down. Dib looked back at his computer to see a pixelated version of Zim laughing at him—the security codes he had broken past were fakes.

All went silent when the ground beneath them began to shake. Then the dirty cement floors were divided by wide cracks that spread all the way up the brick walls of the factory. The sinkhole Zim had created underneath them had finally compromised the integrity of the factory's foundation. They were about to be sucked hundreds, if not thousands, of feet underground.

Leaving his laptop behind, Dib bolted for the exit. He hit the ground moments later when Zim lashed out with one of his robotic PAK legs and tripped him.

"Zim, you idiot, this is no time to fight!" Dib shouted, trying to get back on his feet—the robotic leg was still wrapped around his own. "We have to get out of here!"

"We?" Zim said. His mouth spread impossibly wide, his squinting eyes still pink from the acid's glow. Then, with a laugh, he used the PAK leg to drag Dib's body across the groaning, shaking ground and hurl him back toward the machine. Some of the falling plaster and bricks had struck the glass tubing in their descent, the pink acidic substance spraying onto the ground. When Dib landed, the left side of his body was soaked in it.

He screamed as the skin of his left arm and leg were eaten away, his torso, face, and neck also dappled with spray. His hearing almost disappeared from excruciation, so the crumbling of the factory became silent to him. But he knew that the ground had finally started to sink and by force of adrenaline alone he ran for where he thought the exit was.

Suddenly his left side was lighter. As he pumped his arms, he realized that half of his left one was no longer there. His vision quaked as his horrified heartbeats filled his skull, and then he hit the ground again because his left leg wasn't there to support his next step forward. He was hyperventilating, choking on dust and soil and his own terrified tears and then he was sliding over the dark ground until the bright blue green of a sunny day was dappling the world all around him and someone kept yelling his name as the factory screamed into the crater beneath it and he lay sunny-side up and sizzling dizzily like that stupid jiggly wiggly piggy at the grocery store he'd never been to.

Dib opened his eyes in bed. The sheets were tangled around him, like they always were when that memory surfaced to leave a layer of scum on his subconscious. Sweat had darkened his white pillow to gray.

He sat up, unraveling himself. The bedside clock read 6:32 AM. Earlier than he had planned on getting up, but there was no way he was going back to sleep now.

He suddenly became aware of a tapping in the background that he had at first thought was the ticking of his clock. He turned on the bedside lamp to see Zim sprawled sideways in the rocking chair, staring unblinkingly at him as he rhythmically clicked the end of one of the hotel pens. The nib poked in and out, in and out.

Zim stopped. "23,520 seconds you were asleep," he said. "And none of them look like they did you any good. Human resting techniques are pathetic."

Dib just stared at him, the evil, smiling version of his face still looming in his mind. But when he put on his glasses, it was just Zim's contact lenses staring back at him—he was already in his disguise, ready to go like Dib had told him to be.

Wordlessly, he tugged on his prosthetic leg, rose from bed, and went to the bathroom. There was no steam on the mirror to block his reflection this time. Every brownish-pink, shining scar that crept up his neck to his cheek and draped over the bridge of his nose was on display for him. He splashed water on his face and let his hand drag over them, lingering on their abnormal texture. He kept his eyes on the sink faucet as he brushed his teeth.

* * *

 **Author Note:** There you have it, folks! The story of what happened to poor Dib, told in a totally-not-cliche dream format. Thanks to everybody who's left reviews and favorited/followed the story; it makes me really happy knowing that you guys like reading this as much as I liked writing it. Catch ya later!


	8. Chapter 8

"THAT'S all the further we've gone?" Zim hollered.

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose as he reexamined the route he had plotted out in the GPS. He had a long day of driving ahead of him and he couldn't afford to get lost in the middle of nowhere. Especially not with an annoying alien in the passenger seat.

"Yeah, Zim, it's a big country. It takes _days_ to make it all the way across by car," Dib said.

"If we had the VOOT we could've gone from one edge of this continent to the other and back in an hour!" Zim continued.

"Well, we don't have the VOOT, do we?" Dib said, talking as if to a child.

"I can't afford to be gone that long! The base! GIR! It'll all go to dooky if I'm not there!"

"See, you're trying to put the blame on me, but this is all _your_ fault," Dib said. "And if you don't like my travel schedule, you can hitchhike your way back. You've done it before."

"Yeah, when I wound up in Mexico in the summertime!" Zim said, glancing worriedly out at the frigid landscape. "But this cold…I mean, Zim can handle anything, but as an Irken I don't _particularly_ enjoy it."

"Then—and look me in the eyes when I say this, Zim," Dib said, drawing near to the alien's face. "SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT!"

Zim recoiled and Dib leaned back into place in his seat. He'd done enough map reviewing. It was time to get moving. He started the car and Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again" filled the cabin. He nearly laughed.

Aside from the music, it was quiet between them for some time, which surprised Dib. He glanced over periodically to see Zim propping up a cheek on his hand, elbow resting against the door. He watched the landscape morosely, glassy contacts fixed on the broad, empty horizon that surrounded their equally empty stretch of highway. The alien could handle long, boring journeys if he knew he was travelling as quickly as possible to reach his destination, but the knowledge that they were using a less-than-optimal mode of transportation was clearly grating on him.

Then Zim seemed to spot something in the gray-dotted sky and pointed frantically. "Wait! We can take one of your primitive flight machines to all the stupid places you want to go!"

Dib noticed the plane before it vanished over a cloud. "Then I'd have to come all the way back out here to get my car. Plane tickets are too expensive anyway." Not that that last part mattered, given who his father was.

Zim gripped the dashboard as he leaned over it, rubber gloves squeaking as he strained to find the plane again. "Then let's go rob a bank."

Dib was about to retort, but instead his eyes fell on Zim's PAK, now in full view as the alien was practically squishing his face against the windshield. The three pink glowing spots on it seemed dimmer than usual, darkened to an almost purple color. Was something wrong with it? As Zim leaned back in his seat, giving up on spotting the plane again, Dib noted that his bruises from the previous night weren't healed—after all their years of beating each other up, he knew that normally those minor injuries would've cleared up in half a day. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with his PAK. Maybe that's why he'd been acting so strange, and why he was so eager to get home.

"What's up with your PAK?" Dib asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the alien go stiff. "Eh? What are you talking about, Dib-monkey?"

"Uh, well," Dib's fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "It looks dimmer than usual or something."

He expected Zim to blow up on him, but instead he heard him sigh. "It's a long story."

"It's a long ride," Dib said. For nearly two minutes there was nothing but silence between them again.

Then Zim spoke. "It all started over the summer. I'm sure you noticed I was gone for nearly two weeks."

"No, not really," Dib said.

"Oh," Zim said. He cleared his throat and continued. "I received a message from the Tallest in the form of an extremely muscular Irken with handcuffs. Even with all my amazing strength and cunning I wasn't able to fight him off, and I was taken to planet Judgementia, where I was to be judged."

"Never would've guessed."

"SILENCE, or Zim will not reveal the rest of his tale," Zim shouted. "I soon realized that I was being given an Existence Evaluation, though I was not due for one for another fifty years."

"Wait, an Existence Evaluation? And how the hell old _are_ you?" Dib questioned, feeling like his eleven-year-old self again.

Zim scoffed. "I don't see how it's important to the story, but in your years I am 175."

"Holy shit," Dib gasped—due to his size and penchant for tantrums, Zim had always seemed like a perpetual 10-year-old to him.

"Yes, your pathetic human meat-case could never hope to preserve itself for so long. It really goes to show how much better I am than you." Zim said, shutting his eyes and crossing his arms proudly.

"Sure, whatever," Dib said. "But the Existence Evaluation."

Zim immediately sobered. "Ah, yes. Existence Evaluations are something that every Irken must face near the end of their life. Pass, and you get to keep on living and conquering for the Empire and your data is added to the Control Brains to be passed down to future generations. Fail, and you are deleted on the spot."

"You mean…executed?"

"If that's the human word for having everything you are stripped from your body so your physical form can be tossed into a snack processor, then yes."

"Oh, God, you _eat each other?"_

"Eh? No, dead Irken matter is only processed into smeet food. It's gentler on the squeedlyspooch," Zim said. "But you're getting me off-track again, Dib-stink! At the Spike of Judgement, all of my past accomplishments were played out before me, with My Tallest and thousands of Irkens in attendance. But, apparently I was the only one to view my deeds as the grand, incredible acts they were." He made a breathy tsk-ing sound, staring out the window.

"What did you do?" Dib asked.

"I showed them what a valuable asset I could be, that's what!" Zim yelled. "Twice— _twice_ —I plunged Irk into darkness! Plus half of Devastis! They always said _ooooo, Zim, you're too short to rise to the level of Elite, you're too small to be a soldier, too weak to be an Invader, blah blah blah!"_ His tiny fists were shaking. "So I showed them! I proved them wrong! And after all that..."

Zim's shout trailed off into a crackling sadness that Dib had never heard before. But, still, he had to ask. "Zim…isn't Irk your home planet?"

Zim kept his eyes locked on the passing landscape as he slowly pulled his knees to his chest. He looked very small.

"Yes," he said.

"So," Dib pressed on. "You wrecked your own planet? Twice?"

His thin arms snaked around his knees. "Yes."

"Did…people die?" Dib's voice came out in a whisper.

Zim put his head down. "Yes."

Dib turned the music off, processing what he'd just learned. He'd always gotten the feeling that Zim was not liked by his people, from the incident with Tak to the abduction by Sizz-Lorr. Even the few random interactions he'd had with Zim's leaders suggested that they didn't take the invader seriously. But Dib never imagined it was due to such a high-level atrocity. He was honestly amazed they hadn't gotten rid of Zim sooner.

Then something occurred to him. "Wait, if being an Invader is such a high honor, but you caused planetwide devastation…why were you sent to Earth?"

Zim brought his head back up, resting his chin on his knees. "The mission was a fake. They didn't think there was anything but asteroid dust, let alone inhabited planets, in your corner of the galaxy. They expected me to die travelling aimlessly in the void," Zim said. "Tak tried to tell me, back when she nearly claimed the planet. I didn't believe her."

Dib shook his head slowly. He understood now that Zim's leaders were predators that liked to toy with their prey before devouring it, only this game had been going on for a lifetime. The Existence Evaluation was simply the end of that game; they'd grown bored of watching the tiny soldier blow himself up, forever acting in a much crueler, alien rendition of the Truman Show. But it seemed Zim had managed to mess even that up.

"What happened at the Existence Evaluation?" Dib asked.

"I failed," Zim said. Even though the entire conversation had taken Dib off-guard, this was the clincher. Zim never admitted to failure; it was always "my invention has failed me," "GIR has failed me," "the universe has failed me." He felt like he had just watched the last withered leaf blow loose from a dead tree.

"The Control Brains attached themselves to my PAK to suck my data dry and eradicate it," Zim continued. "Everything I had done was deemed defective. But, as it turned out, I was _so_ defective that even their millennia-old processors couldn't handle me. My data drove them insane. It triggered the collapse of Judgementia. And probably the third collapse of Irk at my hands."

Dib suddenly realized that, in his horrified stupor, he had accelerated to nearly 90 miles per hour. He took his foot off the gas and let the car slow back down to 65.

"Curse you, Dib-stink," Zim said tiredly. "We were just starting to get somewhere."


	9. Chapter 9

Dib tried to pry the rest of the story out of Zim—he still didn't know what it all had to do with his dim PAK—but the alien had complained of being too tired and crawled into the backseat. Now he was half-curled up on the seat cushions, his back outward, asleep.

The details Dib had gotten were plenty to process. He kept the music off, because trying to think about everything Zim told him and listening to his mother's favorite songs would probably drive him into a psychotic fit.

He had no idea what to feel. For the past year he had pushed Zim to the far corners of his mind and stayed away from the alien as best he could. Just last night he told Zim he hated him. But now…now he almost felt bad. But he didn't want to feel bad for the monster that had taken his arm and leg. And now he knew Zim had done much worse things than that, killing thousands, maybe millions of his people in his idiotic desperation to be noticed and praised by them. He should be feeling even more vindicated in his decision to out the alien with the Swollen Eyeball—having Zim sliced open would be doing the entire universe a favor.

Dib glanced into the rearview mirror at Zim's motionless body. He must be truly exhausted to let his guard down this much. It could be another side-effect of his PAK issues.

And, bam, he was thinking about the alien's well-being again. He supposed it was because, now, he realized how truly alike he and Zim were. In his school, town, and even his own family, Dib had always been an outsider, mocked and ridiculed for his interest in the paranormal. Now he understood how much of an outsider Zim was, too—he was the bane of his species' existence, kept alive only for his leaders' entertainment.

But, at the end of the day, it was always Zim's decision to go through with his impulses, to take his half-baked plans too far as he groped for any semblance of glory. Everything he brought upon himself and others was his fault. So Dib shouldn't feel anything but disgust at the alien.

He caught Zim's reflection in the rearview mirror as he sat up. There were dark rings around his eyes, but not from bruising. Dib looked at the clock and realized he had been engaged in his mental back-and-forth for over two hours. They passed an exit sign for an upcoming town with a cluster of information about restaurants and hotels.

"Never thought I'd say this," Zim said hoarsely. "But I could really go for a waffle right now."

Dib nearly protested, but realized his stomach felt terribly empty. With a sigh, he merged into the right lane and took the exit. Minutes later they were sitting inside a Waffle House, trying to ignore the stares of greasy, bearded truckers and the buzz of flies concussing themselves against the shaded window.

"I'll take a stack of three, powdered sugar, but none of that lard and sticky garbage" Zim rattled off to their apathetic waitress.

Dib ordered two waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon and a coffee—something simple to keep him full for a while. He stared down at the sticky tabletop while jazzy Christmas music crackled out from an equally sticky-looking jukebox behind him. The waitress came back with Dib's coffee and he added sugar and cream, watching it spread in a white cloud within the darker liquid.

"You drink that filth now?" Zim asked, looking exhausted as he propped his cheek up with a hand.

Dib almost jumped when he heard Zim's voice. He swallowed. "Not really. It'll probably make me jittery."

Zim reached across the table and dragged the stained white mug over to his side. He took a long sip, gagged, and spat it all over the window. Then he took a smaller sip, grimaced, and spat it sloppily back into the mug. He pushed it back over to Dib, who observed it all in silence.

"Could use more sugar," Zim said, crossing his arms as he watched his coffee spit drip in slow trails down the windowpane.

Their waitress returned with their food, blinked slowly at the mess, and left without asking if they needed a refill. Zim began painstakingly slicing his triple-decker waffles into neat, equivalent squares. Then he popped them, one by one, into his mouth. Dib just kept watching him, not touching his own food.

"Why?" Dib asked.

"Hm?" Zim grunted, several bites of waffle tucked into his cheek.

"Why did you tell me all that? When we were driving," he continued.

Zim swallowed. "Because you asked."

"That's _it?"_ Dib asked, anger rising in his gut. "You just decided to give me an answer because I _asked?"_

Zim put his fork down. "And because you insisted. So, I thought, 'why not?' You're the only creature who's ever cared about what I have to say, so why wouldn't I take advantage of that?"

"It's a stretch to call it caring," Dib said. "I've just always wanted to learn as much as I can so I can take you down."

A gleam came into Zim's eyes. "Yes," he said. "There you are, Dib-thing."

Dib hadn't realized what he'd said, but now he was disgusted with himself. He promised himself after the accident that he wouldn't get involved with Zim anymore, but here he was getting sucked back in. The alien was like a black hole, determined to reel him in and tear him apart. He scowled at Zim and began shoving food into his mouth.

"I suppose there is another reason," Zim said after a moment. "On Irk, it's a symbol of success, an honor, to have your data passed down to the next generation. Defectives do not have that privilege. And since I am defective, everything that I am will end when my life does. As pathetic as it is, I see in you another chance to live on within someone. To, in death, not be completely erased."

"So, what, now you're just gonna dump stories on me like you're my dying grandpa?" Dib asked. "I guess I didn't make it clear enough last night, so I'll say it again: I _hate_ you, Zim. And once this trip is over, so are we. You're not passing down your shit legacy to me." With that, he ducked his head and continued eating, though he didn't really taste the food.

They finished in silence and Dib only realized when the waitress returned with their bill that he would have to cover both of their meals. He growled in frustration but paid up and even made sure to leave extra for tip since Zim had made such a mess. When they returned to the car, Zim clambered into the backseat, wrapped himself in a blanket, and laid down facing away from Dib again. And even after all that, Dib still felt a horrible twinge of guilt, like an icicle had fallen from the Waffle House gutter and impaled him straight through the chest.


	10. Chapter 10

"Here's a folder for you: it has all sorts of information about campus, our majors, scholarships, the whole nine yards. Oh, and what size t-shirt are you?"

"Uh, medium should be fine," Dib replied.

The cheerful admission office receptionist gave him a smile and told him to have a seat while she fetched a complimentary t-shirt from the back. Dib suspected she was trying to be extra nice because of the shadow of fear that had crossed her features when he first entered the building—he got those looks often from new people, thanks to his scars. He watched a slideshow play on the large TV across from him, but even over the top 40 hits playing in the background, he could hear the hiss of whispers from the hallway the receptionist had disappeared into. _Probably giving the admission counselor and tour guide a warning_ , he thought.

The receptionist returned with a girl in a college sweater who introduced herself as Liz, the tour guide.

"Nice to meet you, Dib. Just you and me today?" she asked after shaking his hand. He made sure to reach out with his real one.

"Yeah," he said. His mind flashed to Zim curled up in a ball in his back seat.

"Alright then," she smiled. "Let's get started!"

They walked together through the blustery campus, occasionally ducking into buildings so Liz could show him a classroom or a lab or tell him a historical tidbit about the college. She periodically checked if he had any questions and sometimes asked him a few.

"You've driven a long way to get out here—any particular reason you decided to look out of state?" she said as they crossed the campus green (or white, she joked).

"Just wanna get away from it all, I guess," Dib answered, hoping she wouldn't dive too deeply into the subject.

"I can understand that," she said. "For me, home is about an hour and a half north of here. That's obviously not as big of a distance, but I had the same feelings when I started looking at schools. I wanted to find somewhere that felt like it was my own space, and this school wound up being my favorite, so here I am two years later!"

"Cool," Dib said. "Sorry, what did you say your major was?"

"That's okay! I'm in the biochemistry program. That's actually why I stuck around over winter break—I'm helping one of the professors run an experiment." Liz said proudly. "I saw on your sign-up form that you're undecided, but is there anything you're thinking about majoring in?"

Dib laughed internally, thinking of how over-the-moon his father would be if he majored in biochemistry. "I'm really not sure. My dad's a scientist, so he's always wanted me to get into the field. I'm just not sure I'm interested in that. But…" he trailed off, uncertain if he should reveal what his true passions were. "I, uh…think journalism would be cool."

"Nice! I have a friend in our journalism program and she's learning a lot of really great stuff. It's a lot of writing, obviously. I sure couldn't do it!" Liz laughed, opening a door for him as they entered the campus library. "This building is actually the oldest on campus, so it has a lot of cool architectural features and weird little nooks and crannies that are great for studying. Also, I'm pretty sure it's super haunted."

Dib couldn't stop himself from visibly perking up. "You believe in ghosts?"

Liz nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah. Especially after hanging out in this building past midnight. Like this one time, I was in a study nook, _by myself_ , and three books fell off a shelf for no reason and I swear I heard this creepy laugh. I was seriously freaked out. But, that's what led me to join the ghost hunting club, and those people are some of my closest friends now."

Dib thought his jaw might hit the floor. "You guys have a _ghost hunting club?"_

Liz proceeded to tell Dib all about the exploits of the ghost hunting club, from their on-campus investigations to their trip to a major paranormal convention the past spring. She had to remind herself multiple times to stop gushing about it and tell him more about the school, but of course Dib didn't mind one bit. When they reentered the admission building, he felt like the tour had ended too soon.

"Thanks for telling me about the club," Dib said. "I was kind of nervous to say it, but paranormal research has been a passion of mine for a long time. Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to be a paranormal investigator. I, uh…got made fun of a lot." He laughed, though it sounded sadder than he had intended.

Liz gave him a sympathetic smile. "Trust me, I've gotten weird looks from people when I mention I'm in the ghost hunting club. But, actually, most of the students here think it's pretty cool; we're one of the biggest organizations on campus! But, Dib," she said. "Don't be afraid to tell people what you're passionate about as you're looking for schools. That's the awesome part about going to college—you're in a new place where you get to meet people who share those passions, and you can grow as a person because of it. Sounds kinda cliché, but a fresh start can be pretty powerful."

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Liz."

"It's been really nice talking to you," she said, extending her hand. "My email is on one of the cards in your folder, so if you ever want to chat again, you can totally reach out. I'm gonna go grab your counselor now so you can go over more logistical stuff."

"Sounds good," he replied, taking her hand again and then watching her go. He gave her a final goodbye before he followed the counselor back to his office.

"See ya," she smiled. "Maybe we can hunt ghosts together next fall."

The counselor closed his door, blocking Liz from Dib's sight. He thought it would be very nice to hunt ghosts with her, indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

Back at his car, Dib tucked his folder and t-shirt into the suitcase in his trunk, mind reeling with higher-ed knowledge. It had been a great visit, and this was only the first of many.

Then he saw Zim, still curled up in his back seat, and he was reminded of the other purpose of his trip. He half smiled, speculating about how Liz would react if she knew he was traveling with an alien.

He jumped when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He flipped it open and was surprised to be met with the Swollen Eyeball's riddle routine again.

"This is Agent Thunderbird returning your call," she said, barely masking the exhaustion in her voice.

"Thanks," Dib said. "So, what's the decision?"

"They're giving you one last shot," Thunderbird said. "You said you would be in Seattle around New Year's?"

"Yes, by New Year's Eve," he confirmed.

"Alright then," she said. "Agent Cthulhu and I will be there to receive you and your…extraterrestrial. We thought it would be fitting for the rendezvous point to be the Space Needle. Meet us there by midnight so we can have an interesting start to the new year."

"Affirmative," Dib said. "New Year's Eve, the Space Needle, midnight."

"Don't disappoint us again, Mothman," Thunderbird said. The call cut out. Uncertain of whether he should feel excited or worried, Dib gave a sigh and ducked into his car.

A groan came from the backseat as he turned on the engine and Zim groggily sat up, his head the only thing visible from within the thick blanket he had nestled himself in. His wig was askew and he rubbed at his eyes, probably irritated from wearing the lenses while sleeping.

"Where are we, Dib-stink?" he grumbled.

"A college in Iowa," Dib replied. "I just got done with a tour, so we're heading out."

Zim glanced outside, taking in the chilly white landscape. "It looks exactly the same as any other town we've been to. Empty, cold, and filthy."

"It's not filthy," Dib said. "I actually really like it here, so shut up."

Zim's tongue darted out and his eyes narrowed. Then he straightened his wig and crawled into the front seat. Meanwhile, Dib reviewed his route and reached for the gearshift, but hesitated. He grabbed his mother's CD case from the backseat and chose a new disc, a greatest hits collection by John Denver. "Leavin' On A Jet Plane" seemed to take on new meaning for him as he pulled away from the college and left the snow-covered brick buildings behind him. He wondered if Liz was still at the admission office or if she'd headed back to the laboratory to help her professor.

"What are you smiling about?" Zim snapped.

Dib shook his head. "Just thinking. Don't worry about it."

Zim's tongue flickered out again. "Is it the female?"

Dib's heart jumped into his throat. "What?"

"You were with a female at some point, yes? I can smell her on you," Zim replied, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, my tour guide was a girl, you creep," Dib said. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, please, Earth-smelly," Zim said. "Zim sees you young humans mashing yourselves together all the time at school. And you sing about it enough!" he jabbed a hand toward the stereo. "It's all _love_ this and _love_ that, _love_ him and _love_ her. It was bound to happen, even to you, at some point."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Dib said, continuing before Zim could say anything. "Whatever, I'm not in love with the girl who gave me a tour. I mean, she was nice, but she was just doing her job. I had a good time talking with her, that's all."

Zim gave a single laugh. "The only time you have a _good time talking_ is when it's to yourself."

"Oh, says you!" Dib shot back. "That's probably why GIR's insane—he has to listen to your bullshit all day!"

"No, he's insane because his brains are made of _bubblegum_ and _paperclips_!" Zim retaliated.

At that, Dib found himself genuinely laughing. It might have been because of his good mood after the tour, or maybe because the answer was impossible but completely believable. Either way, when he was through, he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

"I'm serious," Zim said, which sent a few more laughs through Dib.

They re-entered the highway and watched the road signs go by, advertising cities big and small, until the sun sank over the horizon in front of them. It had long ago grown dark when they stopped in Nebraska for the night.

At the hotel, Zim was quick to follow Dib into his room. Dib rolled his eyes, but let him come in. He was too tired from driving to put up a fight, not to mention hungry. He used the hotel phone to order pizza again and promised himself that he'd make healthier choices for the remainder of the trip. When he turned around, he found Zim peeling off his contact lenses.

"Hey!" Dib scolded. "Don't take that off yet, the pizza guy's gonna be here in twenty minutes."

"I can't stand these wretched lenses any longer," Zim growled, tossing one aside and rubbing furiously at his eye. "I'll just hide in the latrine or something."

"Whatever," Dib sighed. He opened his overnight bag for his pajamas and saw his camera sitting on top, remembering that he had stowed it away that morning before they set out from Illinois. He glanced over at Zim, who now had both lenses out and was rubbing his eyes so hard Dib thought they might implode. The wig was still on, so it wouldn't be a good time for a picture.

Once in his pajamas, Dib flopped onto the bed and stretched out as far as he could. He was eager for the pizza man to arrive so he could remove his leg for the night; it was sore from a day of walking in the cold and driving. He sat back up and massaged the flesh near the base of his stump, which offered some relief. Glancing up, he saw that Zim had removed his wig and was rubbing his antennae between his fingers, repeatedly starting at the bases and working his way up. His lidded magenta eyes had a far-off glaze over them—whatever he was doing must feel pretty nice.

"What're you doing?" Dib asked.

Zim's eyes snapped back into focus, antennae twitching toward Dib as he released them from his fingers. "Same as you. They ache when I have to keep them pressed down all day long." His gaze shifted down slightly. "It causes you discomfort, then?"

Dib looked down at his leg, the injury and his prosthetic hidden by his sweatpants. "Yeah, Zim. It's really fucking uncomfortable."

"Can I see it?" Zim asked.

"What?" Dib said, taken aback.

Instead of explaining himself, Zim walked to the left side of the bed, arms crossed behind his back. He waited.

Dib scoffed at the alien and rolled up the leg of his sweatpants. Only a bit of his scarring peeked over the top of the sock that helped keep his prosthetic in place. Zim stared at it.

"Well, what?" Dib asked again.

Zim kept staring at it. "It's not often that I get to see the scars I've dealt up close. People don't normally survive my mistakes. But I made sure that you did."

"What?" Dib asked a third time. Then a knock came at the door and he unrolled his pant leg. Zim vanished into the bathroom before he could question him further. He paid for his pizza, sent the delivery man on his way, and flung open the bathroom door; Zim stood just past the threshold.

"Okay, Zim, what the hell were you talking about?" Dib asked.

Zim stared up at him with a strange, calculating anger, antennae slowly rising. "Are you saying you don't remember?"

"Remember _what?_ Just spit it out!" Dib yelled.

"How do you think you got out of that hovel before it collapsed, idiot boy? Ghosts? One of your make-believe human deities?" Zim clenched his fists. "That was the moment of my greatest failure as an Invader, the reason I got yanked away from my mission for an Existence Evaluation—I allowed the enemy, my one mortal foe of all people, to live! I _saved_ you! And you _insult_ me by letting it slip through your soggy, useless meat-brain?"

Dib's mind scrambled to piece together memories that were half lost, half suppressed. He was on the factory floor, an arm and leg missing; he was being pulled by his remaining wrist and ankle, flung through the air like when Zim threw him at the vat of acid; he was beneath the open sky, feeling the bassy groan of the earth swallowing itself in his chest; and above it all, a shrill, familiar voice screaming his name.

But there was more. He had laid in the overgrown factory parking lot for some time before loud cracks signaled that more of the ground was becoming unstable. He felt two arms force themselves under his armpits, his head clunking against cool metal while his lower back and legs were dragged across the uneven ground. Gaz must have found some weird way to move him out of her spot on the couch after he fell asleep watching Mysterious Mysteries.

Ragged breathing. "GIR! Help me!" Leg lifted at the knee. Back still bumping along the ground. A car horn blaring, engines rushing by.

Another voice. "Jesus, kid, what the hell happened?"

"The factory! A sinkhole and he got trapped!"

"Okay, it's okay, calm down, my wife has 911 on the phone, they'll be here any second—,"

"If they can pick any second to be here why aren't they here NOW?"

"Please, kid, settle down. I know you're freaked out, but everything's gonna be alright."

Sirens. Red and blue lights on the outskirts of his vision. Warm bodies surrounding and prodding at him.

A third voice. "What about you, son? You got banged up, too, so we need to take you to be examined."

"EXAMINED?"

"Yes, at the hospital, to make sure that blow to the head hasn't caused you a concussion."

A fourth voice. "Hey, kid, wait!"

Another. "Get back here!"

"WAIT!"

A door closing. Surrounded by white and the rumble of an engine driving him away. He wasn't at home on the couch.

The pain hit him like an arrow to the skull. Like an animal fighting the impossible fight against death, he did the only thing that seemed natural and allowed his body to scream and thrash.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Ooo, seems there's a bit more to the story than meets the eye! Leaving you guys on a bit of a cliffhanger this time; fun, right? Thanks again to everyone leaving reviews. It's chicken soup to my fanfic-writing soul. See ya round!


	12. Chapter 12

Dib only realized he was falling when his knees hit the floor. He put a hand on the bed to steady himself, staring down at Zim's pointed black boots.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"Your brain is clearly incapable of recalling important information at the moment, but I'll ask anyway," Zim said. "Do you remember when you were my height and briefly dedicated yourself to the hard sciences?"

Dib mustered a nod.

Zim continued. "When I lost you as an adversary, I lost my motivation along with you. When you came back, I swore that I would never allow you stray from me again. That day, in the factory, when I realized you weren't going to make it out alive, I had to intervene. Because what would be the point of succeeding in my mission if you were not there to finally accept your defeat?"

Dib raised his head to glare at Zim directly. "So you saved me, but only because you were afraid of losing your favorite toy? Because I'm your fucking security blanket that you can't do anything without?"

Zim appeared puzzled. "You should be honored that Zim divulged such personal details to you. It's not often that an Irken Elite regards another being with such high esteem."

Dib's vision tunneled with rage as he lunged forward, knocking the alien onto the bathroom tile. Zim was sideways beneath him, kicking and clawing furiously. Dib used his adrenaline and size to his advantage—he was done playing nice. He grabbed Zim's antennae in a fist, yanking his head backward. He kneed the alien in the back, causing his whole body to arch upward, and then used his prosthetic hand to shove Zim's screaming face into the toilet bowl. Horrible, sick gargles echoed from the toilet and seconds later a strange whitish steam began to rise up with them.

Zim's flailing foot connected with Dib's crotch. On instinct, Dib's hands flew down to cover himself. Then a second kick hit him in the chest, sending him onto his back so he was halfway out of the bathroom. He expected further hits, but instead he got the sound of vomiting. He sat up, only half-recovered from the surprise kick, and saw Zim gasping for breath with his back against the bathroom wall opposite the toilet.

"Insolent boy," Zim said, speech slurring. "Sticking the head of Zim into a throne of waste."

"You had it coming, you piece of shit," Dib growled, trying to cover the crack in his voice.

Zim narrowed his eyes at him. " _What?_ I can't hear anything thanks to your barbaric battle strategy."

Dib just groaned, partially annoyed and partially cresting another wave of pain. He wondered if Zim vomited because of what he'd done to his antennae or the fact that his head was shoved into a germ-filled toilet. Either way, he was happy to see the alien suffering—his green face was a mess of blisters, his antennae spasming from time to time, and his uniform was soaked with toilet water and a few stray streaks of vomit. Zim reached up to massage at his antennae, hissing with pain as he worked the kinks out of them.

Zim continued talking, distorted as he sounded. "I can't believe the nerve of you. I tell you that I, Zim, was generous enough to save your life and you brutalize me." He stood up shakily and, to Dib's surprise, removed his gloves. He placed them neatly on the floor and yanked his scarlet uniform over his head, being mindful of his antennae. Then he reached back to his PAK, which begrudgingly opened so he could pull out a block of Irken cleansing chalk. Replacing his gloves, he walked to the edge of the tub and turned on the tap to soak the uniform before rubbing at it vigorously with the chalk.

Dib was taken aback—how could Zim go so quickly from fighting to doing laundry? "Hey! We're not finished with this conversation!" he shouted.

Zim paused his scrubbing to glare over his shoulder at Dib. "Yes, we are."

"No, you're not gonna boss me around like I'm a little kid anymore," Dib said. "You need to fill in the blanks so I can finally understand what the hell's going on with _you_ and what it's all got to do with _me."_

Zim wrung out his uniform, re-wet it, and started scrubbing again. "I don't understand how you could be stupid enough to _not_ see your connection, but fine, the generous Zim will spell it out for you.

"My PAK automatically records daily activity logs, which then get sent to the Tallest. They saw that my PAK had been used to save a member of an enemy species—you. It was the perfect excuse for them to bump up my Existence Evaluation and finally rid themselves of a defective soldier. You know the rest. And now look at me," he said, turning his back toward Dib.

Dib hadn't noticed before, but up close he could see a black ring of charred flesh around Zim's PAK. He suspected the skin underneath was equally burnt.

"My PAK barely functions as storage unit anymore, and it's too damaged to attempt removing it for repairs," Zim said. "There are things about my early life on Irk I can no longer remember. My senses are dulled and I can never shake my exhaustion, even with manual rest. And it's all because I was weak and stupid enough to save _you."_

Despite everything, Dib felt a twinge of guilt for the suffering Zim had gone through. The alien was truly a shell of his former self, fearful of what would befall him now that his empire and his very life support system had forsaken him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zim held up a hand to stop him.

"Even so," he said. "I still mean everything I told you over breakfast. Out of all the beings I've come across in the universe, you're the only one I feel I can trust with my legacy. And…as much as it pains me to say it…I don't regret saving you."

"Well, yeah, you just said I was your sole reason for working toward world domination," Dib said bitterly.

Zim stopped scrubbing and lowered his head. He spoke slowly. "The universe would be a much more miserable place if you were not a part of it."

Dib was so taken aback that he physically jolted away from Zim, causing him to topple out of his crouching position. The bathroom was suddenly suffocating and he awkwardly crawled his way out. He left the room, not caring how bitterly cold it was in the dark Nebraskan expanse, because he just needed to be anywhere but alone in that room with the alien who now felt more alien to him than the day he marched into his fifth-grade classroom.

Dib decided that his car was as good a place as any to decompress. He turned on the engine to get the heat going again. For the first time since he drove away, he truly missed being home. He plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.


	13. Chapter 13

"If you're another goddamn telemarketer I'll trace your call and send a plague of pig demons to eat your family," Gaz snarled through the phone.

"It's me Gaz. Your brother?" Dib replied.

"What? Oh," she said. "Damn, I was just getting used to _not_ hearing your stupid voice."

He laughed half-heartedly, glad to be talking with someone who acted like they were supposed to. "Sorry to ruin your night."

"They delayed the release of the Game Slave 6 another month, so it was already trashed," she sighed. "Anyway, what do you want? Did you hit a bigfoot and total your car?"

"I wish. Be better than the trip I'm having so far," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he hesitated. "Zim's here."

She sighed again. "Guess I should've warned you. I saw him sneak into your car the night before you left."

"You _knew?_ Aw, come on, Gaz!"

"I thought it would be funny to hear you get all whiny once you found out," she said. "I was right."

"Gaz, I made it _very_ clear that I didn't want anything to do with him, I can't believe you'd let him—,"

"Why didn't you just get rid of him?"

"Huh?"

"You've been gone three days. Why didn't you just chuck him right after you found him?"

Dib sighed angrily. "Because I have a plan."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I decided when I hit the West Coast I'm gonna turn him in to the Swollen Eyeball. Two agents are meeting me at the Space Needle on New Year's Eve and I'm gonna expose him to them. Then they'll see that I was right all this time, dissect him, and it'll be bye-bye bug-boy. The Earth is finally saved and we can wipe our hands of him."

"If that's what you want," she said.

"Of _course_ it's what I want! Chasing that asshole _literally_ cost me an arm and a leg, why wouldn't I want him gone?" he yelled.

"I dunno, isn't he sorta what gives your life meaning?"

Dib's throat constricted around the words he was about to shout at the mouthpiece and only a high, crackling sound escaped.

 _The universe would be a much more miserable place if you were not a part of it._

A long, heavy sigh came from Gaz's end. "Look, Dib. I'm gonna get real with you, but only because this conversation is annoying me. After Mom left and died or whatever you got all obsessed with ghosts and bigfoot and aliens but you never had any proof and pretty much just made yourself an outcast. But then Zim showed up and you actually had something to work toward, which kind of made you even more annoying, but at least, I dunno, you weren't keeping me up at night with your noisy-ass crying. Hearing you talk about saving the Earth just now sounded more like your old, not-crying self than you have in all the months when you cut yourself off from him. So, yeah, maybe it costs you an arm and a leg to keep the guy around, but at least you're not a zombie all the time. And…"

"And what?" Dib said, nearly in a whisper.

She continued. "He's basically a wreck without you, too. I never told you because I guess I was trying keep him away like you wanted for some reason, but he came by the house a lot while you were in the hospital. I almost had to beat him up, but he was already pretty busted, so I let it slide. What I'm getting at is, in a fucked-up way, you guys are friends. And I think killing him would do a lot worse shit to you than losing your arm and leg did."

Dib sat quietly, watching the fog on his windshield slowly creep away as the air from the vent shooed it upward. When it cleared, he could just make out the welcome light gleaming outside his room.

"You still there?" Gaz asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, if you're just gonna make me sit in silence, I'm hanging up," she said. "Oh, wait, what state are you in? Dad will wanna know."

"Nebraska," Dib said, then mentioned the next thing he could get his mind to think of. "I got pizza for dinner."

"Me too. Whatever you got can't beat Bloaty's though," she said.

"Yeah, especially now that it's cold. That's twice in a row I've had cold pizza for dinner."

"Gross."

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, I'm gonna hang up now."

"Sure. Say hi to Dad if he comes around," he said. "Uh…thanks, Gaz. For talking."

"Whatever," Gaz said. "Say fuck you to Zim for me."

"I will," he said, smiling.

After Dib ended the call, he sat for a few more moments before he realized his mother's music was still playing softly in the background. He killed the engine and it all went silent.

Back in the room, he found Zim standing with his arms crossed in front of the television, still shirtless, watching Jeopardy. Faint shivers rippled through his shoulders. His antennae barely pricked in the direction of the door when Dib closed it behind him.

Dib had no idea what to say. Then he glanced at his overnight bag and remembered the t-shirt he'd gotten at his college visit earlier that day. He found it right on top, beside his camera, and offered it to Zim, who side-eyed him before returning his attention to the show.

"You look cold," Dib said. "You can wear this until your uniform's dry."

Zim gave a harsh laugh. "I wouldn't stoop so low as to wear a human rag. I'd rather freeze to death."

"Whatever you say," Dib replied, leaving the shirt on the foot of the bed. Just like the night before, he made himself comfortable and chewed away at the hardened crust and congealed cheese of his pizza.

As the theme song for Final Jeopardy played its geriatric tune, Zim finally turned around to examine the shirt. He held it up, taking in the design, and begrudgingly pulled it over his head. It was practically a dress on him, the short-sleeves draping down past his elbows. Then he caught Dib looking at him, narrowed his eyes, and made a low hissing sound before turning haughtily back around to the television. Dib just shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. They watched the credits roll in silence.


	14. Chapter 14

Dib woke up the next morning to find his college shirt folded neatly on the end of the bed. When he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he found Zim crouching on the pedestal sink, staring into the mirror as he carefully peeled blistered flesh from his face. Dib remembered his scar ointment and offered some to Zim. The alien turned up his non-existent nose at it.

"Just try some," Dib said. He demonstrated by putting a dollop on his finger and rubbing it over the scarring on his own face and neck. It eventually rubbed in just like lotion.

Zim watched the process and cautiously removed a glove, sticking out one of his clawed fingers. Dib squeezed out a tiny amount and they both stared at it on the green fingertip, waiting for something to start smoking. Nothing happened, so Zim began rubbing it in slow circles on his cheek. He asked for more.

Soon they were back on the road. In two hours, Dib would reach his next destination in Colorado.

"How do humans _tolerate_ this kind of travel?" Zim asked, his head down on the dashboard.

"It's the only option for a lot of people," Dib said. "Know what's even crazier? Some people do this as a job."

"WHAT?" Zim barked, head flying up so he could stare horrified at Dib.

"Yep," he replied. "Some of the guys that drive the big semi-trucks do cross-country delivery routes, so they're always just driving back and forth."

Zim stared at the semi next to them as they pulled ahead and left it behind. "But they're so much slower than us."

"Yeah, they have speed rules. So it takes them even longer to get where they're going."

Zim shook his head. "Now I know _for sure_ that humans are insane. Wait until I tell the Tallest about—,"

The silence that hung between them after Zim cut himself off was electric with awkwardness. Dib drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Zim cleared his throat. "Right. Stupid PAK. Making Zim forget things."

"You're just not used to it yet," Dib said. "It's gonna take longer than a couple of months for you to let go of all your Invader training."

"Eh?" Zim glared pointedly at Dib. "Who said anything about letting go of being an Invader?"

"Oh, uh…" Dib swallowed. "Well, I just sort of figured…since your leaders want you dead and your PAK's broken, you'd…stop?"

The next silence felt like the one from the bar a few nights before, after the man and his friend called Zim short. Dib was suddenly very afraid of being in the car with Zim—either side of the highway was a mess of ice, and several other cars buzzed around him on their morning commutes. If Zim snapped and tried anything, Dib could lose control of the car and they'd almost certainly wind up dead.

"How dare you," Zim said, his voice low and shaking. "How _dare_ you make that assumption. I am an Invader. This is my mission. And I won't rest until it's complete."

Dib's heart thumped away in his chest. "Zim, you're not thinking clearly. You just told me yesterday that your mission was a fake, you don't _have_ to complete it. Even if you do, it's not gonna make your leaders look at you any differently—,"

"I don't CARE what the Tallest or any other Irkens think of me!" Zim shouted. "I don't CARE that my PAK is broken! I know who I am—what I am—and that's an INVADER! Fake mission or not, I found this planet for a reason: it's my destiny to rule over all mankind! My one true purpose!"

Dib felt like his heart was in his throat. "Zim, please, you don't have to keep doing this."

"What do you know?" Zim growled. "And why do you care? Isn't this what you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you MEAN what do I mean?" Zim said. "If it's my destiny to take over this planet, it's _your_ destiny to try and stop me! You get the same gleam in your eyes when you talk about foiling my plans as I do when I make them! So we need to keep pushing each other, forever, or else…or else…"

Dib glanced over at Zim; he was kneeling sideways in his seat, facing Dib, his gloved hands clutching at the hem of his uniform, shaking. His head was bent down, defeated.

The highway had cleared out somewhat, so Dib flipped on his hazards and carefully pulled onto the shoulder. He took a breath and gave Zim his full attention.

"Look, Zim," he said. "You need to accept that I'm not gonna be around for much longer. I'm going away to school, I can't spend the rest of my life chasing you around. And if the only reason you're trying to take over the Earth is because you think I'm gonna run after you…I don't think you _do_ know what you want."

Zim kept his head bowed as Dib spoke and didn't raise it when he replied. "If I'm not an Invader, I'm nothing."

"Yes you are," Dib said. He took a deep breath, wondering how things would change when he said his next words. "You're my friend."

Zim looked up at him, fake eyes glassy despite his grimace. "How is _that_ supposed to make me feel any less pathetic?"

"Oh, shut up!" Dib said. He took a moment to recompose himself. "But, you said it yourself. When I was a kid and I gave up on paranormal research, I was miserable. And so were you. But it wasn't because I'd given up on hunting you down and you'd given up on world domination. It was because we…I dunno, stopped being there for each other."

Zim stared gloomily off to the side. "Then I really am defective. Invaders aren't supposed to need anybody. But I can't do anything if you, a filthy human, aren't there with me."

"Maybe on your planet you're defective, but that's not how I see you," Dib said. "I mean, sure: you're selfish, impulsive, and kind of a short-sighted moron sometimes. A lot of times. But, damn if you're not persistent. If you just shifted your ambition to something other than planet-wide genocide, there's nothing you couldn't do!"

"Oh, yeah? And what would that other thing be?" Zim asked.

"No idea," Dib said. "You have to find out. Just look at me! This trip is all about figuring out what I wanna do next, but right now I really don't have a clue. It's kind of terrifying. And I know it probably feels extra terrifying to you, since you pretty much had your whole life mapped out for you by robot brains. But now you've got a whole world—a whole universe of exploration waiting for you! You can do or be whatever you want to be! It's…" he recalled Liz's words from the day before. "A fresh start. And that can be pretty powerful."

Zim sighed. "Well, as peachy as that sounds, it doesn't change that you're insistent on leaving Zim behind."

Dib's gaze fell, landing on the cell phone in his cupholder. He picked it up. "Zim, look. This is a phone. I know you have one in your base. You can call me whenever you want. Well, except when I'm in class and stuff."

Zim finally turned his attention forward again. He eyed the phone, then Dib. "You've been different today. Is this some kind of trick?"

Dib realized that he had been acting exceptionally kind toward Zim since the night before. "Oh, uh…when I left the room for a little bit I had a talk with Gaz. She kind of cleared some things up for me."

"Ah," Zim said. "She made you realize how amazing I am. Who knew someone so spooky could be so wise."

"Sure, whatever," Dib rolled his eyes. "I still don't know if I'm totally sold on this whole being nice to you thing. You _did_ almost kill me."

"But I'm also the one who saved you and now I'm crippled, so put that in your pie and soak it."

"It's 'put that in your _pipe_ and _smoke_ it.'"

"Well, that doesn't make any sense."

"I'm ending this conversation now," Dib said, shifting the car into drive and pulling back onto the now emptier highway. The nothingness stretched out around them, but in the distance they could make out the tiny blue outlines of mountains. They would be in Colorado soon and finally have a change of scenery.


	15. Chapter 15

"I'll be joining you on this tour thing," Zim said, hopping out of the car after Dib parked in the campus visitor lot.

"I don't think you can," Dib lied. "I only marked myself down on the sign-up form. It's probably best if you just wait here."

"Nonsense!" Zim said. "If higher education is the thing humans do next, I need to learn about it. Then I can tell you for certain how stupid it is to consider it."

Dib groaned but headed toward the admission building; there was no sense putting up a fight with the tiny green equivalent of a brick wall. As they walked inside, they received several double-takes from the students and staff walking the halls. Dib found himself keeping his eyes on the floor like he had when he entered the admission office in Iowa.

"Straighten up, Dib-stink, or these people aren't going to take you seriously," Zim hissed. He walked with his usual arms-back military strut, staring down anyone who dared to glance his way.

"Oh God," Dib muttered.

The receptionist reacted similarly to the one in Iowa, which is to say startled by his scarring (and now by the small green boy accompanying him). She soon recovered and handed him a folder of information before trotting off to fetch the tour guide. This time their guide was a tall, muscle-bound boy in a varsity jacket. He shook Dib's hand so hard that Dib had to fight the urge to wince. Then he turned his attention to Zim.

"I didn't see your name on the roster. I'm Jake," he said, extending his hand.

"Zim. I'm accompanying my _friend_ on his idiotic journey across this hideous continent," Zim said, his hand nearly vanishing inside of Jake's.

When Jake glanced quizzically over at Dib, Dib forced a smile. "Ha, ha, yeah, he _hates_ the winter."

"Well, it's a lot of fun around here with all the slopes!" Jake said. "Either of you ski? Snowboard?"

"No, we don't have mountains like these back home. Just sledding hills," Dib said.

"Oh, what do _you_ know, Dib? You spend all your time cooped up inside," Zim butted in. Jake laughed awkwardly and Dib shot Zim a warning look, shaking his head.

The rest of the tour continued in a similar fashion. Jake would give facts about the school, Zim would start to insult something, and Dib would attempt to intervene with niceties about the architecture. By the end of the tour, Jake gave them both a tight-lipped smile that told Dib he was glad to be done with them. They met briefly with a counselor, another stressful experience since Zim had followed him, and by the time they left the building Dib was exhausted.

"Well, Zim was right yet again," Zim said as they returned to the car. "College is stupid. It's just like regular school but you have to pay thousands of monies for the rancid cafeteria food!"

Dib slammed a fist on the roof of his car. "Will you shut up? Will you _please_ shut up?"

"Why? I'm right," Zim said, crossing his arms.

"That's not the point!" Dib said. "Yeah, maybe college isn't the pretty picture they advertise it as in the brochures, but it's the next step _I_ want to take! So quit ruining it for me!" He took a deep breath. "That's not what friends do."

"But we've spent years ruining things for each other," Zim said.

"That's _before_ we decided we were friends, Zim," Dib explained. "Pretty much everything we've done together up until now is _not_ the dictionary definition of actual friendship."

"Then enlighten me," Zim said. "What is it you want from Zim?"

"I dunno, support maybe?" Dib said. "You could _not_ be rude to all the people I meet and _not_ talk down every nice thing that they say."

Zim gave a little hiss of discomfort. "That's asking an awful lot."

Dib opened his door. "Get in the damn car."

After a few more hours of driving, they crossed the Colorado border into Wyoming and found themselves at yet another motel. Dib was happy that this one had a Chinese takeout restaurant across the street—not exactly the healthier dinner he'd envisioned, but at least it was different. He ordered his dinner and took as quick of a shower as he could while maneuvering around his prosthetics. He was getting more and more acclimated to having a permanent arm again each day.

The feeling of refreshment he had when he left the bathroom lasted only seconds. Zim had made himself comfortable on the bed with the remote, flipping through the channels on the tube TV. Dib was about to yell when the delivery man knocked on the door.

As soon as he had the food he rounded on Zim. "Comfy?" he asked.

Zim peeled off his contacts and wig. "I am now."

Dib scoffed and went to the opposite side of the bed, climbing on top of the hideous paisley comforter and elbowing Zim, who hissed but scooted over. He took off his prosthetic and made a half pretzel with his legs, slouching over his noodles as he slurped them up. Zim made a gagging sound.

"How are you _still_ this freaked out by food?" Dib asked.

"It's stinky," Zim said. "And you make wet noises with your mouth when you eat it."

"Says the guy who lip-smacked his way through those waffles yesterday," Dib said.

"That's because Earth food is soggy—there's no way around it," Zim replied. "When I eat Irken food I don't make a sound."

"Oh, so you _do_ eat food aside from waffles."

"Yes, a few times a week. I require more outside nutrients now that my PAK is half-functional."

"Oh," Dib said, looking down at his food. "Are…you hungry now?"

Zim laughed. "Any appetite I had is gone now that you've brought that _filth_ into the room."

Dib rustled around in the takeout bag for a moment. "Want my fortune cookie?"

Zim narrowed his magenta eyes at it, antennae twitching toward the sound of crinkling plastic. He took the cookie carefully in his fingertips, turning it around a few times.

"Why is it called a fortune cookie?" he asked.

"Because when you break it open, there's a little paper in the middle with a weird cryptic saying on it. Every once in awhile they feel meaningful," Dib said.

Zim grunted and tore open the cellophane. He held one side of the cookie between the fingers of each hand, staring at it in anticipation. Then he cracked it open and plucked out the thin piece of paper.

"Your fortune is in another cookie," Zim read.

Dib laughed sympathetically. "Aw, well, maybe next time!"

"Right," Zim said cynically, tossing the two cookie halves across the room. Before Dib could stop him, he tossed the paper into his mouth and swallowed.

The rest of the night was spent lounging in front of the television, with Zim having occasional outbursts at the stupidity of the game show contestants until finally, around 11PM, Dib glanced over to find the alien asleep.

"Hey," Dib said. "Hey, Zim." He nudged at the alien gently. Zim just grimaced and shifted onto his side, back facing Dib. His PAK pulsed a dull rhythm, at times nearly going dark. Dib sighed, deciding to just leave him alone. He clicked off the light.


	16. Chapter 16

Dib woke up to something wrenching him back and forth by his t-shirt. His groggy noises escalated to a shout of terror when he saw a pair of red eyes floating above him in the darkness. He fumbled for the light switch on his bedside lamp and turned it on despite being shaken by whatever had ahold of him. In the light, he realized it was Zim. The alien was screaming at him.

"WHERE ARE WE, HUMAN FILTH? EN ROUTE TO SOME DISSECTION FACILITY? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ZIM?"

"Zim, what the fuck!" Dib shouted back. He grabbed onto Zim's tiny wrists and tried to yank him away, but the alien was clearly on some kind of adrenaline boost—his grip was like tempered steel.

"I ASKED YOU FIRST," Zim yelled. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"Nothing, calm down!" Dib said. "We're on a road trip, remember? I didn't abduct you or whatever you think is going on!"

"LIES! FILTHY LIES!"

Dib looked around frantically, trying to find anything that would make Zim remember. He spied the cellophane fortune cookie wrapper on the floor and reached for it while Zim continued his tirade.

He held it up in front of Zim's face. "Look! Remember the fortune cookie? I gave it to you and you ate the paper inside. It said, 'your fortune is in another cookie.' Remember, Zim?"

Dib couldn't quite tell without the contacts, but realization seemed to be dawning in Zim's eyes. His antennae sank back down from their aggressive forward position and his grip on Dib's shirt loosened. He plucked the wrapper from Dib's hand and crinkled it in a fist. Then he slowly returned to his side of the bed.

"What the hell was _that?"_ Dib asked once his heartrate had slowed.

Zim sat with his head between his knees, pressing at it with his hands. Then he popped back up and hopped off the bed, brushing imaginary dust off of his uniform.

"Hoo boy!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "That was _some nightmare_ I just had! Sorry about that, Dib-stink, just some of my incredible Invader defense training coming out."

Dib gave Zim a level stare. "You're sure that's all it was?"

Zim stretched his arms, putting one after another above his head. "Of _course_ it was! What, do you dare claim to know my own ingenious brain better than _me?_ _Zim?"_

Dib just sighed and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was just before 6 in the morning. No point in going back to sleep. He pushed off the covers, put his leg on, and headed to the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he caught Zim's reflection in the mirror as he strained to look over his shoulder at his PAK.

Over the next few days, Dib tried to focus on his college tours instead of Zim's concerning behavior. He had a few more noticeable memory lapses, one of which occurred as they were leaving their next motel room. As Dib was putting his overnight bag back in his trunk, Zim strolled out to meet him—without his disguise on. He tackled Zim back into the room and, once the alien had stopped clawing at him in fury, he stood Zim in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Look!" Dib yelled.

"Yes, a perfect Irken specimen, I—," Zim's voice had cut out, his body frozen. When he started breathing again, he gave a weak laugh. " _Oh!_ Yeah, that'll happen sometimes. It's like if _you_ leave the house without your stinky trench coat on!"

The next time was in the car, while they were driving across Washington state. Since Dib was ever-curious, conversation had eventually drifted to Irken biology.

"So, does eye color mean anything, or is it just like human skin tone?" Dib asked. "Like how you have reddish eyes and Tak had purple."

"Who's Tak?" Zim asked.

Dib blinked in surprise. "Tak, the Irken who tried to conquer Earth with a weenie stand? You literally just mentioned her the other day."

Zim laughed. "No Irken would _dare_ invade Zim's territory!"

"Well, she did. And she did a way better job than you," Dib said.

"The _nerve_ of you! To lie about another Irken coming to Earth and being more amazing than _Zim!"_

"I'm _not_ lying! This is a _real thing_ that happened, and you were pissed about it!" Dib said. "She was gonna fill the planet with snacks! She told you your mission was a fake!"

"That's a bunch of—," again came the pause of realization. Zim's eyes locked straight ahead and Dib could practically feel the heat coming off of his PAK as he strained to string his thoughts together.

"Oh, _her!"_ Zim said, laughing. "Yes, she did try. But she failed. And that's why I forgot her—Zim doesn't waste his time remembering failures."

It was almost a plausible answer, but Dib didn't buy it. Later that night they hit Seattle and, once they were settled in their room, Dib left under the guise of finding them both some food. Once he was inside his car again he called Gaz.

"What now?" Gaz groaned.

"It's Zim," Dib said. "He's been acting really strange."

"You're gonna need to be more specific," Gaz said.

"No, not like his usual weird idiot self, it's…I dunno, he keeps forgetting stuff. Like he has Alzheimer's or something."

"How come?"

"I don't know."

"Then why'd you call me? Just in the mood to waste my time?"

"No! I'm just," Dib sighed. "Freaked out. I guess."

"So you _do_ wanna waste my time," she said.

"Or you could _attempt_ to offer me a little support. You're kind of the only other person I can talk to."

She sighed. "Well, hurry up then."

"Okay," Dib said. "I think it maybe has something to do with his PAK—you know, that thing on his back? It got screwed up during this Existence Evaluation thing and I don't think he can fix it. He mentioned there are things about his early life he can't remember anymore, so worst case scenario is that the problem is spreading and eating up his more recent memories, too. Which means that it'll keep on spreading and then he won't remember where he lives or why he's on Earth or even who he is and…"

"He'll die," Gaz finished.

"Yeah," Dib said, barely making a sound.

"Damn, and right after you guys had your happy reunion," she said. "Just like one of those shitty tearjerker movies."

"Shut up!" he yelled. "For fuck's sake, could you maybe _try_ to give a shit about my feelings for once? Sorry I pulled you away from your stupid videogames for five minutes!" Without waiting for a response, he slapped the phone shut.

He sat breathing heavily and fogging up the windows of his car. Gaz's words hit him in the chest like angry heartbeats: _he'll die, he'll die, he'll die._ A Fleetwood Mac album played softly, the music dripping down the windshield with the condensation.

 _"_ _Kids, I'm afraid I'm broadcasting to you today with some bad news," Dib's father said through the floating screen. "Your mother has passed away. She was very ill and she succumbed two days ago. She was cremated immediately afterward, so there will not be a funeral. Now, finish your breakfast or you'll miss the bus!"_

The news from thirteen years ago finally decided to punch Dib in the gut. He gripped the steering wheel tightly in his real hand and as tightly as he could in his prosthetic one. His head hit the top of the wheel as hard, wheezing sobs crawled up from his gut.

It wasn't fair. That's all his brain could think: it wasn't fair that his mother left and died, and it wasn't fair that his arm and leg were gone, and it wasn't fair that some stupid alien could waltz in to invade the Earth and die right after deciding to do better. Right after Dib had finally become his friend.

His phone buzzed and for a moment Dib was pulled out of his misery. He picked it up and flipped it open.

It was a message from Gaz. "Sorry."

Dib sent one back. "Me too."

* * *

 **Quick Note:** The song I pictured for this chapter was "Storms."


	17. Chapter 17

After he composed himself, Dib walked down the block to a convenience store and grabbed a random array of snacks. As he paid, he watched the news on the TV behind the counter; the news anchor mentioned that there would be fireworks launched from the top of the Space Needle at midnight to usher in the new year.

"Oh _shit,"_ Dib said.

"Yeah," the clerk said. "I'm guessing you're from out of town? They do it every year. Highest structure they set off fireworks from in the country. Legally, anyway."

"Cool, that's really cool," Dib stuttered, gathering the bulky paper bag in his arms.

"I'd hurry down there if I were you," the clerk said. "I know it's only 9:30, but the crowds get thick early. Say, wanna buy a map?"

But Dib had already pushed his way out the door. There was a bench near the bus stop where he set the bag down and hurriedly pulled out his phone to call the Swollen Eyeball.

"Come on, come on, _come on,"_ he whispered as the phone rang and rang. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten all about his plan. He'd been too busy worrying about Zim, he supposed.

A cheerful recording told him that, while his call was very important, there was no one available to take it at this time. Cursing, he hung up and re-dialed. He repeated the process two more times before he finally gave up. Everyone was out for the holidays, and now Agents Thunderbird and Cthulhu would be waiting at the Space Needle for a package that wasn't coming. He took a deep breath to steady himself—at the very least, it would be easy to keep Zim away from them. They just had to stay in the hotel room for the rest of the night.

He turned around to grab the bag of snacks, only to find them missing. Turning around in confusion, he caught the shape of someone sprinting around a corner and out of sight. He called out half-heartedly, shoved his hands in his pockets, and headed back to the room.

He found Zim standing on the bed, arms crossed as he scrutinized the news. The alien was almost imperceptibly bouncing up and down.

He looked over at Dib. "Hey! Didn't you say you were getting snacks?"

"They, uh, got stolen," Dib said.

"A likely story," Zim said, rolling his eyes. "No matter. We can find something when we head out to see the fireworks!"

Dib felt like all his organs had tumbled down to his gut. "What?"

Zim stopped bouncing and pointed at the TV. "The announcer drone. She said there would be fireworks at something called the _Space Needle_. I would very much like to see what you idiotic humans think a space needle is." He laughed.

"I dunno, Zim," Dib said, mind scrambling. "The fireworks are for a _human_ celebration. Tonight's New Year's Eve, so a ton of people will be gathered there to watch them go off at midnight when we ring in the, y'know, _new year._ "

Zim grimaced. "You humans find the dumbest reasons to celebrate. _Hooray, another cycle around the ball of gas whose inevitable heat death represents our collective doom!"_

"Right? It's _so_ stupid. We should just avoid the whole thing," Dib said.

"But Zim is so _bored!"_ Zim said, head sagging backwards as though his boredom had fallen on it like a sack of flour. "Every day it's been _sitting_ in that horrible vehicle or _sitting_ in a horrible room. I can't take it anymore! Seeing explosions while laughing at humanity's collective stupidity is the only thing that _might_ make me feel less like a tub of festering dooky!"

"Well, they'll be, uh, _broadcasting_ it! Yeah, on live TV! We don't have to go anywhere to see the explosions—er, fireworks." Dib said.

"Please, Dib-stink, the only way to really enjoy explosions is to see them in person, when you can feel their power vibrating in your squeedlyspooch!" he sighed reminiscently. "Reminds me of my early military days. Explosions everywhere, and _Zim_ was the best at them!"

That gave Dib an idea. "See, that's what I'm worried about. You've had these weird memory lapses recently, so what if you hear the fireworks and suddenly think you're in a warzone? You could go nuts and wind up getting hurt or, I dunno, captured by people that might just happen to be looking for aliens."

Zim glared pointedly at Dib, stomping to the corner of the bed to stand as close to him as he could. "Listen here," he jabbed a claw into Dib's chest. "The mind of Zim is as sound as ever! You act like it's abnormal to forget things when just earlier today you couldn't locate the room key in your own stinky coat! And if you think I'll be spooked by a few piddly crackle-pops, you've seriously misjudged me! Zim doesn't need some silly human telling him what to do!"

"Will you shut up!" Dib yelled. "I'm just trying to keep you safe!"

"From what?" Zim asked. "There's nothing in this wretched city that my Invader training hasn't prepared me for. And now that you aren't trying to capture me, there certainly aren't any other humans I need to worry about. Unless…"

Dib was silent. He swallowed hard and was about to speak up when Zim continued, eyes narrowed.

"Maybe you know something I don't."

The words tumbled out. "There's two people from the Swollen Eyeball Network waiting for us at the Space Needle. I was going to hand you over to them at midnight, but—,"

"Oh, I see," Zim said. "You've been plotting this from the very start. What a _very_ despicable plan you nearly executed, Earth-stink! It seems you've picked up a thing or two from my own work over the years."

"Hold on, I wasn't—,"

Zim hopped off the bed. "Well, don't bother taking your shoes off; we need to make it down to the Space Needle before the streets get too congested! The news beast said to get a good head start."

"What?" Dib asked.

"I'm taking this hooded garment you got at your last college visit, otherwise I might catch a chill. Come on, hurry up!" He yanked the hoodie out of Dib's suitcase and forced it over his head.

"Zim, we can't go, they'll be waiting for you!" Dib said.

Zim looked at Dib, then at the door, then back to Dib. "Yes. That's the point, isn't it?"

"No, no, I don't _want_ them to take you! Not anymore!" Dib said.

"Of course you do!" Zim said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. "You had me fooled for awhile there, Dib-stink, but now I see it! This whole elaborate journey has been your comeback—your return to chasing me! So, let's go along with it like always: I'll pretend like I don't know what's happening, you'll get me in your clutches, and then, at the last second, I'll escape and get back to planning world domination until next time! I'll admit, it would've been more fun if you kept this last part a secret, but, hey, I would've had trouble containing myself, too!"

"No, you're not listening to me!" Dib said. "I made this stupid plan but then I changed my mind! I don't want this to happen, Zim, you're my friend—,"

"Glad to see you're back in character," Zim said, opening the door to let in the chilly nighttime breeze. "Now, let's go see these _totally_ normal fireworks at a _totally_ normal location where people _definitely_ aren't waiting to kidnap anyone!"

Dib realized that there was no getting through to Zim now. Feeling ill, he followed the alien out the door and into the night, a few scattered snowflakes falling like the last grains of sand in an upturned hourglass.

* * *

 **Author Note:** Uh-oh, cliffhanger time! Thanks again for all the reviews! They fill me with determination.


	18. Chapter 18

"Let's pretend that you're the one who suggested we go see these fireworks and I'll act really annoyed that you're dragging me out amongst the smelly humans," Zim said. As they walked, he yanked the hoodie's strings so the hood tightly encased most of his head. He bit at his upper lip in mock annoyance that Dib presumed would turn into real annoyance once they got into heavier crowds.

As they followed the flow of foot traffic, Dib tried to steady himself by people-watching and pretending he was going to a normal holiday event just like them. People spotted one another across busy intersections, waving and meeting up when the lights changed, taking each other's hands or hugging. There were street performers on a few corners, dancing or hammering away at keyboards while they eyed people up for tips. Sometimes he let his gaze wander higher so he could try to see the tops of buildings and, in the process, caught glimpses of what was happening inside them: a man watching TV, a cat flicking its tail while it lay on the windowsill, children pressing against glass as they watched the crowds move below them. And out of all of them, Dib was the only one who knew the answer to one of humanity's biggest questions: "Is there life in the universe beyond planet Earth?" He allowed himself to smile sadly as he looked down at Zim, who was trying his best to avoid touching any of the people walking past him. _Yep,_ Dib thought. _And it's pissed off about traffic just like the rest of us._

Suddenly, the crowd became too thick to move through anymore. Dib looked up again and saw the massive point of the Space Needle piercing the winter sky. He became slightly hopeful—the crowd was so big that it would be extremely difficult to find anyone in it unless the two parties were in constant communication. Dib wasn't even entirely sure whether the two Swollen Eyeball agents knew what he looked like; plus, Zim was so short that even his green skin wouldn't be noticeable amongst the throng of average height adults towering over him. There were other people filling in the spaces behind them as they arrived, so they would soon be completely engulfed. They only had to make it through an hour and a half, maybe two, before they could sneak back to the room and be safe.

"How is anyone supposed to see the fireworks like this?" Zim shouted up to him.

"I told you it'd be crowded. We can always turn back," Dib replied, a little hopeful.

Zim glared at him, then scanned his surroundings through the tangle of arms and legs. His eyes widened, apparently having spotted something. "THERE!" he yelled, grabbing Dib by the sleeve and rushing them both along a twisting path that had opened amongst the onlookers. Dib tried his best not to trip or step on anyone's toes as the alien towed him down a side street, though another crowd, and up a sidewalk to an open space near a light post. He hopped onto the post's wide concrete base, which put him at the same height level as the crowd; he grinned with satisfaction.

Dib was horrified—they were closer to the Space Needle than before, the lamp post spotlighting their position. At least they were still in a fairly dense crowd. He looked around nervously at the people bundled in their coats and scarves, staring up at the Needle or asking one another what time it was.

"You know, Dib," Zim said. "Once I get out of your little trap, I think my next plot for world domination will have something to do with New Year's Eve. It's funny I never considered it before, but this foolish holiday would be the perfect opportunity to wipe out humanity. I could have you all counting down to your doom."

"What happened to pretending?" Dib asked tiredly.

"Well, GIR isn't here for me to share my amazing plans with and I couldn't contain myself," Zim said. "Here, let me get back in character." He drew a hand down over his face, changing his expression to one of oblivious joy. Dib just shook his head and went back to monitoring the crowd, hoping he hadn't missed anything.

"Cough once if you're Agent Mothman," a man's voice suddenly said near his ear.

Dib spluttered in terror, barely managing to stay still.

"Close enough. This is Agent Cthulhu," the agent said. "Thunderbird is further back awaiting my signal."

"H-how did you find me?" Dib asked, just loud enough for Cthulhu to hear him.

"You're known in the Swollen Eyeball for your exceptionally large head, which was easy to see thanks to this streetlight you chose to stand under," he said.

"Wha—but I only ever appear as a silhouette to you guys!" Dib growled.

"Silhouettes don't hide scale, my friend, only features," Cthulhu said. "Now then, the extraterrestrial. Is it the little guy standing on the lamp post?"

Dib swallowed. "Yes."

"Okay then, here's what we're going to—,"

Agent Cthulhu was cut off by Zim's bellowing voice. "HEY! Is that Earth-pig bothering you, Dib-friend?" Zim was facing them now, eyes bouncing from Dib to the agent standing just behind him. Their excited gleam had returned and Dib knew that Zim was going to force the capture into motion ASAP.

"Oof, you made him think you're his friend," Cthulhu said. "That's pretty cold for someone so young."

"DIB! What's going on?" Zim yelled.

"He's onto us. I'm gonna give Thunderbird the signal."

"DIB! Answer me!"

"Are you ready, Mothman?"

"NO!" Dib screamed, clutching his head. "No, no, _no!_ Just stop! All of you! Stop!" The people nearest to them in the crowd scooted away in agitation. Dib heard Agent Cthulhu step back in surprise and Zim finally stopped yelling.

He regained some control of his breathing, turning to Cthulhu, who turned out to be a rather heavy man with wild curly hair. "I'm not doing this anymore. I tried to call…I can't do it. I can't do it."

"Agent Mothman," Cthulhu said, eyebrows drawing down over his reflective glasses. "If this dude is really an extraterrestrial, it's your duty as a member of the Swollen Eyeball to expose him and bring humanity one step closer to unlocking the mysteries of the universe. Are you turning your back on us? On humanity?"

Dib shook his head, remembering all the times as a child he swore to be the protector of Earth, with his highest priority being the exposure of Zim. He tried not to imagine the horror his younger self would feel at seeing him now, desperately trying to protect the alien bent on destroying his planet.

"What kind of pathetic capture attempt is this, Dib-filth?" Zim yelled from behind him. Dib turned around to see the alien glaring down at him from his lamp post.

"I don't want this to happen, you idiot! But you won't listen to me! Nobody _ever_ listens to me!" Dib shouted back.

"You're not making any sense! This is what you want—what you've always wanted!" Zim retorted.

"For a long time, yeah, maybe it was, but not anymore! I want to spend the rest of our time together being friends before I have to go away to school and you—," Dib's voice caught in his throat and he felt ashamed that he was about to start crying, which only threw him over his emotional precipice faster. "You're dying, Zim. I know you are. And I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about any of it! Even when I was so angry at you and I wanted to get far, far away from you, I never considered that—that you wouldn't be out there, somewhere! You were supposed to be constant, and—and—,"

"Hey, uh, this is escalating to an extremely emotional moment and that makes me uncomfortable, so…I'll just step over here for a second," Cthulhu said, already beginning to shuffle away.

"Whatever, fuck off!" Dib yelled, reaching under his glasses to palm his tears away. He turned back to Zim, who spoke before he could start again.

"You are under the impression that Zim is dying," Zim said, his tone surprisingly delicate, like a parent consoling a toddler post-tantrum. "And…this upsets you?"

"Yeah," Dib said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "A lot more than I ever thought it would."

Zim crossed his arms. "I hope you realize that this whole mess is of your own doing."

"What?"

" _What?_ Really, Dib, I'd appreciate if you at least _attempted_ to use your brain meats," Zim said mockingly. "If you're so abjectly terrified of this upcoming metamorphosis, don't undergo it. It's what I've been telling you all along: everything is better if you stay with Zim."

"It doesn't even matter if you're dying," Dib muttered.

Zim sighed, and for a brief moment Dib thought the alien's face truly showed his age. "I admit that my time will come sooner than I would like it to. But Zim will not go down without a fight, and even in death the name of Zim shall live on!" Zim pointed a claw at Dib. "I'm certain now that whether you want to or not, you will always remember my name and my life's mission, and that my data will be passed down by you in some primitive human fashion. If nothing else…I suppose even a small legacy like that makes it all feel worthwhile."

Dib felt his eyes welling up again as Zim's words settled on him, but then he heard a loud sniff from somewhere behind him. He whipped around and spotted Agent Cthulhu wiping at his eye beneath his glasses while a tall, large-nosed woman standing next to him shook her head.

"Come on, he called humanity primitive, it wasn't that nice," the woman, who Dib assumed was Agent Thunderbird, said.

"I tried to get away before they really got into the thick of it, but, damn, I'm just so emotionally vulnerable," Cthulhu said.

"I know you are. I know you are," Thunderbird said. She took a deep breath. "Well! Should we take care of business?"

Cthulhu finished composing himself and pulled out a pair of what appeared to be electrically charged handcuffs. "Yeah, I don't wanna miss too much of the fireworks."

"Hey, those are kind of like the ones you tried to catch me with on my first day of school," Zim commented.

"Let's not stick around to see if they work," Dib said, grabbing Zim by the collar of his hoodie and dragging him into the crowd. Zim wrenched himself away and took the lead, weaving past the bundled forms as Dib attempted to keep up. He apologized as they shoved past, at times nearly bowling people over. He had no idea if the two agents were close by, having no time to check behind him as he strained to keep track of Zim in the crowd. He wished the alien were just wearing his usual uniform, glowing PAK on full display, instead of the nondescript gray hoodie.

"Keep the pace, soldier!" Zim shouted, ducking into an alleyway. Dib was breathing hard, muscles burning while his left stump throbbed painfully. He was limping severely by the time he caught up with Zim at the opposite end of the alley.

"You gotta slow down," Dib gasped. "I can't go as fast as I used to, thanks to _someone."_

"Excuses, excuses," Zim muttered, even though he was quite winded himself. "We'll be back at the room within ten blocks, fifteen if we take a more indirect route to shake our pursuers."

 _"Really?_ How do you even know where we are?" Dib asked.

Zim pointed at his head. "I told you, walking navigational chart. Also, I got bored and looked at a map of the city while you were failing to acquire snacks. You're welcome."

"Over there!" Cthulhu's voice echoed to them from the end of the alleyway. They dove into another crowd and hustled up, down, and across city blocks. Their progress slowed as they got further from the Space Needle and the circumference of closed roads—Zim, of course, didn't care to wait for the pedestrian signs and nearly got splattered across two intersections. Back at the room, Dib quickly packed up his overnight bag and got them safely to his car. Fireworks reflected off the hood and windshield as he peeled out of the parking garage and through the shining city. It was 12:07 AM.

"Whoops. Guess we missed the sacred countdown," Zim said. "What happens now, a year of bad luck? A lump of dooky under our pillows?"

"Nope. We just wait till next year and try again," Dib said, wiping sweat from his forehead before it could drip into his eyes.

"So this celebration of time is a waste of time," Zim said. "I don't think I've ever heard a more perfect summary of humanity."

Dib just smiled and let himself laugh. But even if it was a waste of time, he still wondered what a year that started off like this would have in store for him—especially with a crazy alien riding along in his passenger seat.


	19. Chapter 19

They backtracked the route they had taken into the city just a few hours earlier and soon left the glow of lights and fireworks behind. Dib finally had to pull off the highway at a truck stop around 3:30 AM, too exhausted and sore to keep going. He was confident, though, that they hadn't been followed and had left the two agents far behind them. He shoved his seat back as far as it would go and groaned in discomfort. When he rolled up his pant leg and removed his prosthetic, he saw that the skin underneath had been rubbed raw to the point of bleeding. He ached down to his bones.

"I need to go to the restroom to clean myself up," Dib said, replacing the prosthetic. "Stay with the car and honk the horn if you see anything suspicious."

Zim's attention had been trained on Dib's stump as he examined his wounds and put his prosthetic back on, but he finally made eye contact and gave him a nod. Dib left the cabin, grabbed his overnight bag, and made his way gingerly to the restroom.

It was exactly what you would expect a truck stop restroom to look like: aggressive fluorescent lighting, dingy floor to ceiling tile, graffiti-littered stall doors hanging loosely from their hinges. Dib wished he had a somewhat more sanitary place to dress his wounds but set to work anyway. He sat on the cleanest-looking toilet and rooted around in his bag for bandage wrap, antibiotic cream, and his pain medication. He always carried these items with him if he knew he'd be walking for extended periods of time. This was by far the worst chafing he'd ever experienced from the prosthetic. After wiping away the old blood, he slathered on the cream, wrapped his stump snugly with the bandages, and replaced his prosthetic.

Next was the medicine. He walked to one of the sinks and held the bottle steady in his prosthetic hand, using the right to press down on the cap and turn. A simple, thoughtless action. He shook two pills into his hand and swallowed them dry. He splashed some water on his face to wash away the grime of dried sweat and examined his reflection. Although he looked tired, he realized that his scarring had already lightened thanks to the ointment his father had created. Maybe someday he'd look normal again. Whatever that meant.

Dib returned to the car and let the back of his seat down until it touched the backseat cushions. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself up as best he could. It was going to be an uncomfortable, chilly night, but he could already feel the pain medication lulling his nerves.

"So what now?" Zim asked. Dib started; he almost forgot the alien was there.

"I need to sleep. Then I figure we'll just head home. I'm kinda done this trip," Dib replied.

"After that, you fool," Zim said.

"Well, I guess…things will go back to normal. We've got about six months till graduation. Then it's whatever we choose to do next," Dib said.

"So even after this whole debacle you _still_ don't know what it is you want to do," Zim said.

"I haven't really had the space to think about it thanks to _you,"_ Dib shot back.

"Ugh, why does the human brain have so much trouble multi-tasking?" Zim groaned.

"Shut up," Dib said. "Come on, I'm too tired to do an analytical deep dive into my future plans right now."

"But," Zim hesitated and Dib could hear the creak of his rubbery gloves as he twiddled his thumbs. "You still want to go to this… _college_ , yes? You don't have a surprise comeback in store?"

Dib sighed. "Yes, I'm going to college. No, I don't want to capture you anymore. I don't know how to make that any clearer."

"Then you lied," Zim said. "Everything isn't going back to normal. Yes, we'll go back to school, but then after school you'll just go to your house and I'll go to my base and…what? What are we going to do? You sit and watch TV with Gaz while I sit and watch TV with GIR, all our days bleeding together into one long, meaningless ketchup stain on the great t-shirt of time? I might as well separate my PAK from my body right now if that's all we have coming for us!"

"Okay, that's really pessimistic," Dib said, and because he was so tired, he decided to channel some of Gaz's brutal honesty. "But if you don't wanna spend the rest of your days sitting in front of a TV, you need to figure yourself out. I can't do it for you. This whole trip you've been trying to get me to chase you again or shoulder your legacy or whatever, but you've never made up your mind. So instead of blaming me for everything, and telling me how stupid I am for not knowing how I want _my_ life to go, you're gonna need to grow up. That's what I'm doing, and I'm just some dumb human, right? Figure it out."

Zim scowled at Dib and made a flustered grunting sound. He let down his seat and turned his back on Dib, tucking his legs into the hoodie and turning himself into a little angry ball. Dib wanted to just let Zim stew so he could finally go to sleep, but, as always, he felt bad for being so harsh. He knew he would have to make a concession to get Zim out of his funk and he was too tired to consider whether or not it was a good idea.

"You know," he said. "I don't… _have_ to go super far away for college. There are plenty of good schools back home. Even if I lived in a dorm in the city I'd only be, like, fifteen minutes further away from you." Zim's head shifted toward him ever so slightly.

"There are colleges in our own city and you decided to come _all the way_ out here?" Zim asked.

"Well, yeah, my original objective was to get away from you, remember?" Dib asked, yawning. "But, now…I could stick around. Sort of."

"Hm," Zim said. "Well in that case, as idiotic as it is, perhaps I need to consider this college thing, too. I'll need to accrue a sizeable amount of Earth monies and significantly more liberal ideologies but…yes, this will require some consideration."

"Sure, bud," Dib said, eyes closed. Zim continued muttering to himself, but even his ramblings couldn't keep Dib awake now. He finally plunged into a numb, dreamless sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

The countryside swelled into mountains and flattened into plains again on the long journey home. Since he wouldn't be stopping at any more colleges, Dib plotted a more direct route home. He was itching to get back to his own bed and to a place where he knew all the street names and which MacMeaties to go to for the saltiest fries. And he knew that Zim was ten times as eager to be back within the warm mechanical hum of his underground lair. If he remembered it, that is.

As they traveled, Zim continued to experience memory lapses and exhibit abnormal behavior. Once, after a long nap in the backseat, he began making sounds that were a mixture of clicks and grunts. When Dib had questioned him, he only made the noises louder and more rapidly, throwing up his arms in frustration. After a long back and forth, Zim finally began speaking English again and Dib realized that he'd been speaking in an Irken dialect. From that point on, Zim forgot words with increasing frequency.

"My appetite is up, can we get some, uh…some…oh, you know, the cupcakes? No, no, the, uh…square-squish? The squishy squares with squares in them, Dib, come on, work with me!" Zim had shouted.

"Uh…you mean waffles?" Dib asked.

"YES! Waffles! Oh how I love the squishy squares that make a waffle!" Zim exclaimed. But by the time they had reached this conclusion, the exit to the town with a Waffle House in it had passed them by.

"One more day and we'll be home," Dib said. "Then you can have some of GIR's homemade waffles. Those are your favorite, right?"

Zim rolled his eyes. "If he doesn't put *click-click* in them. Whoops, that's Irken. I mean germ-repellent goo. No…bubble-goo? Ah, no, it has an 's' in it. Salt…soup…sock…SOAK! If he doesn't put _soak_ in them!"

"I think you mean soap," Dib said quietly.

Zim growled in frustration, yanking at the hem of his uniform. "Right. _Soap."_

Just then, Zim had fallen forward in his seat, barely catching himself by slamming a hand so hard into the dashboard that Dib was afraid the air bag would detonate. The other hand gripped at the center of his skull.

"Zim! Hey, what's going on?" Dib asked. With Zim leaning forward, he could see that his PAK was glowing a brighter pink than it ever had before. It began blinking rapidly and then, suddenly, went dark. Zim's arms went limp and he fell the rest of the way forward, head hitting the dash, eyes half-open, tongue lolling out. Dib was about to careen off the highway when Zim abruptly sat up again, fully alert and adjusting his wig, his PAK back to its lethargic purple.

"What the hell just happened?" Dib asked loudly.

Zim made a few clicks before clearing his throat and reverting to English. "That was odd."

"That's putting it lightly!" Dib said. "I thought you were _dead!"_

A shiver went through Zim's body. "Zim didn't like that at all." He said nothing more to explain the strange occurrence, leaving Dib in the dark.

At the very least, worrying about Zim made the drive go by faster. They stopped at a gas station to fill up for the final leg of the journey when Dib heard his phone ringing in his pocket.

"Hello?" he answered.

"You can't take Zim back to the base," Gaz said.

"What? Why not?" Dib asked, highly confused. He could see Zim through the glass door of the convenience store, debating which snacks to buy with the money Dib had loaned him.

"Because it isn't there anymore," she replied.

Dib's heart pounded. "What are you talking about? You're not making sense—,"

"It's only been on local news, so you wouldn't know. Where are you?"

"We're still about two hours away—,"

"Then keep the radio off in case they're talking about it," she interrupted.

"Gaz, please, you need to tell me what happened," he pleaded.

"Is he there?"

"No, I have a few minutes before he comes back to the car."

"It was some kind of explosion. I felt it happen yesterday from inside the house. The whole cul-de-sac is gone, Dib. Five people died."

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck," Dib said. It was hard to breathe. He kept his eyes locked on Zim, who was paying for the snacks at the counter.

"You need to figure something out," Gaz said.

"Like what? What the hell am I supposed to say?" Dib yelled. An older man at the next pump glared at him as he filled his truck and Dib turned away.

"I don't know, man. I really don't. Just thought I should warn you," she said.

A thought hit Dib in the stomach like it had physically manifested as a fist. "What happened to GIR?"

Just then the convenience door bell jangled and Zim came walking across the parking lot. "Shit, he's coming. Gotta go," Dib said. He hung up and attempted to look normal by replacing the pump and screwing his gas cap back into place.

 _"_ _Apparently_ gas stations only carry crunchy stuff and stick-shaped meats," Zim said angrily. "So you can have most of this garbage. But not the Fun Dip, that's mine."

"Okay," Dib said, his voice sounding far away.

"You look horribly pale. Like, more than usual," Zim noted. "Probably the noxious fumes from your… _car juice_. Let's get out of here and finish this horrible trip!" He hopped into the car and slammed the door shut.

Dib started the car and drove. Similarly to the beginning of the trip, he was determined to stay quiet for as long as possible. So far, it was an easy task, with Zim fizzling his way through a packet of Fun Dip and the Carpenters singing dreary tunes between them.

From listening to so much of her music, Dib thought he understood why his mother had chosen to leave all those years ago—he pictured her as someone very focused on love and the process of falling in and out of it, something that his father never cared about. She was a romantic who had chosen the most aromantic person on the planet to try to start a family with, so she had to leave everything she'd created with him behind. Although it was a painful conclusion to arrive at, Dib would much rather linger on these musings than try to come up with something to say to Zim.

"Hey, look!" Zim said, pointing up as they passed under a green highway sign. "That's our city! We're almost there!"

 _Of course,_ Dib thought. _That's the one thing you wouldn't forget._


	21. Chapter 21

"The first thing I'll have to do is clean up GIR's mess. We've been gone, what, almost two weeks? I'll be surprised if the place is still standing," Zim said. His arms were crossed behind his head, feet up on the dash. He'd adopted this reclined position from the moment they reentered the city limits, as though he was finally able to release a tension that had been inside him since he left.

"Yeah," Dib said.

"Then I'll have to head down to the base and check on the status of the experiments. Maybe there will be some interesting developments there. Oh, and I'll have to at least let the VOOT run for a while. This planet's dust tends to gum up the thrusters when it sits for more than a few days," Zim said.

"Yeah," Dib said.

"And I _need_ to wash this uniform. It still stinks of that hovel's toilet water even though I washed it with cleansing chalk. I might just have the computer make me a new one!" Zim said.

"Yeah," Dib said. They were in the city now, passing by the central park, Gaz's favorite Bloaty's, their school.

"You're dropping me off first, right? I can't stand the stench of this nasty land craft any longer," Zim said.

Dib decided that the best way to tell Zim what had happened was to simply show him. "Yeah," he said.

The roads that snaked back into Zim's neighborhood were never as well-plowed as the main ones toward the center of town. It seemed that in all the time they'd been gone, it hadn't stopped snowing. Even now, fat flakes fell at irregular intervals from the gray sky. As they neared the end of Zim's street, tire tracks marred the perfect white surface. Several police cars formed a barrier in front of an abnormally empty skyline. Dib stopped the car.

Zim looked at him in confusion. "Honestly, Dib-stink, I thought you knew the way to my house at this point."

Dib looked at him and forced the words out. "We're here."

Zim laughed. "Good joke! But Zim _really_ wants to go home, so cut it out."

Dib unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. As he walked toward the police barricade, he heard Zim's door slam, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

"Dib-filth! Get back in that car and take me home this instant!" Zim shouted.

"We're here," Dib repeated. A police officer approached him.

"I'll have to ask you both to stay back," he said.

"This is my friend," Dib said, gesturing to Zim. "We've been out of town. He lives…"

Realization dawned on the officer's face. "Oh. Oh, lord." He bent down, attempting to get on Zim's level. "Son, I'm so sorry. Is there someone you can call?"

"What are you all talking about?" Zim growled. "Get out of my way!" He shoved past the officer, jumped and slid across the hood of one of the patrol cars, and rushed across the snow to where the street ended. The officer allowed Dib to follow, and he could see Zim standing on the edge of a crater twice the size of the former cul-de-sac. The debris of houses, cars, and underground piping littered the inside of the crater and the surrounding area, all covered in a thin, sparkling layer of snow. Plastic flags had been stuck into the ground and certain areas taped off from the investigation crew that had apparently been there not long before.

Zim's knees hit the cracked pavement. Dib walked to his friend's side and knelt beside him.

"I'm sorry," Dib said.

Zim's head whipped around to Dib and, with a furious yell, he shoved Dib to the ground. He sat back up, listening to the crunch of Zim's boots as he slid down into the crater. He stopped the officer, saying he would go retrieve his friend.

He caught up to Zim at the crater's epicenter, where the base had once been. The alien was clawing at the frozen ground, searching. The dirt shifted and a manhole-sized section fell away. Zim stuck his head over it and was immediately met by a blast of hot gray steam—he rolled away shrieking and wiping at his face.

"Zim, stop," Dib said. "It's gone, okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but you wouldn't have believed me. I guess…I guess GIR got a little out of hand…"

"SILENCE!" Zim yelled, getting back on his feet. "GIR could have accomplished this, yes, but _would_ he have? No! GIR makes messes and breaks things, he doesn't…" his voice caught in his throat. "Not this. He'd never do this." He took a deep breath and a quieter form of anger settled over him. "No. I know what this is."

"What is it?" Dib asked hesitantly.

Zim turned his face skyward, glaring at the clouds. "There are two different base destruct codes: hard and soft. Soft happens slowly, leaving no trace of its presence. Hard happens seconds after the order is given; it's a last resort, used when an Invader is trapped within their base by the enemy, and guarantees that the base and the surrounding area are obliterated. I did not give the order and neither did GIR because I never taught him how. The only other beings with that authority are the Tallest."

"You mean your leaders…ordered a hard destruct?" Dib asked.

"I'm certain of it," Zim said. "Since my PAK is no longer fully functional, it stopped sending them activity logs, which made me more difficult to track. But the base was still able to send its own logs of information. They must have assumed I was here because of GIR's movements and given the signal. They are…starting to be more direct in their efforts to eradicate me."

"O-oh," Dib said. "I guess you never told me what happened between the end of your Existence Evaluation and getting back to Earth."

"So much, Dib-monkey. So much," Zim said, shaking his head. "If I told it all right now we'd freeze to death. The main takeaway is that My Tallest are not happy with me."

"I guess not," Dib said. "But, uh…are you doing okay?"

Zim looked over at Dib quizzically. "Everything is gone." Then the weight of his words seemed to register and he once again fell to his knees. This time he also went forward on his hands, propelled further downward as he vomited. Dib saw his arms begin to shake and quickly grabbed onto Zim before he could fall into his own sick.

"Let's get out of here," Dib said. "You can come to my house until we figure something out."

"Oh…kay," Zim gurgled. He tried to stand up, but his legs began to shake and he hit the ground again.

"Shit," Dib said. "Hey, can you get on my back?"

Zim made a disgusted expression and tried to push himself up. Dib sighed and forced Zim into a sloppy piggyback position on his back.

"Leggo," Zim muttered, digging his claws into Dib's jacket.

"Cut it out," Dib scolded. "I'm not about to wait here all day while you try to crawl out of this crater. It's too cold."

Dib made his way back up to the street, assuring the officer that Zim was okay, just shocked. He got Zim back into the car and reentered it himself.

"Wonder how deep GIR's buried," Zim whimpered. Dib looked over at Zim, who sat deflated in the passenger seat, head resting on the window. Dib couldn't think of anything to say that might comfort him, so he just started the car and pulled away.

* * *

 **Author Note: Sorry this is a day late-busy weekend! Hope you all enjoy!**


	22. Chapter 22

Dib shut the car off in his driveway and stared at his house. It looked smaller than he remembered, so foreign after barely two weeks of being away.

He turned to Zim. "Let's go inside," he said. Zim didn't respond, so he got out and went to the passenger door. Zim was shaky at first but stayed on his feet and followed Dib to the front of the house.

Dib pushed the door open. "I'm home!" he called.

A shrieking green shape shot across the living room, past Dib, and tackled Zim off the stoop and onto the icy walkway. Dib whirled around in astonishment, coughing at the steamy chemtrail that lingered from the green shape's flight, and saw Zim sitting back up. GIR was still shrieking as he sat in his master's lap, reaching to squeeze at his face.

"GIR! What—how—GIR!" Zim yelled, voice distorted as GIR squashed his cheeks together. Normally, Dib knew that Zim would have shoved the poorly disguised robot aside, but this time the alien threw his arms around him and laughed.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY I MISSED YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!" GIR squealed.

"And Zim missed _you,_ you greasy little idiot!" Zim cried.

Dib heard footsteps behind him and saw his sister. "Gaz!" he shouted, hugging her tightly.

"Ugh, get off!" Gaz yelled. "You weren't even gone that long."

"How is this possible?" Dib asked when he released her. "Why's GIR here? I thought he blew up with the base."

Gaz shook her head. "I was gonna tell you, but you hung up. The little weirdo showed up here after the explosion. I don't know if he was there when it happened or not, but he must've just…decided our house was the best place to come for some reason."

Dib shook his head in amazement, looking back down at Zim and GIR. "Maybe he knew about Zim's plan to follow me on my trip and figured we'd come back here together."

"Maybe," Gaz replied. "Seems a little smart for _him,_ though." GIR had somehow gotten Zim on his belly in the snow and was crouching on his PAK as he gave his master a painful-looking stranglehold hug.

"Yeah, true," Dib said. He got GIR off of Zim and after a few more minutes of tussling, he ushered everyone inside. In the living room, Zim slipped into Irken as he chattered at GIR—Gaz gave Dib a questioning look and Dib did his best to come up with a gesture that said _it's his PAK._ Then they heard the heavy sound of rubber boots crossing the kitchen tile.

"I see your little foreign friend has come to collect his pet," Professor Membrane said, standing just outside the kitchen doorway. Dib was surprised that his father was home but felt an unexpected relief at seeing him.

"Dad, hi!" Dib said.

Rather than responding, the professor turned his attention to Zim. "I heard about what happened to your home. An ignited gas leak, I presume?"

Zim made a clicking sound and Dib coughed loudly, both to get his attention and cover up the inhuman noises. They met eyes and Dib mouthed the word _English._

"Er," Zim said as he stood holding onto GIR's shoulders. "Yes. Something like that."

Dib interjected before either of them could speak again. "Dad, is it okay if he stays with us for a little while? He doesn't have anywhere else to go."

A heavy silence hung between Dib and his father. The professor gestured to him. "Son, come with me to the kitchen."

Dib looked over at Zim, who wasn't paying attention anymore because he was staring down at GIR, and then over at Gaz, who just shrugged. He followed his father to the far side of the kitchen, near the back door. Even though he was nearly done growing, he was still a few inches shorter than his father and had to look up at him when they talked.

"I won't allow him to stay here," the professor said, brief and brutal as always.

Dib made a strangled sound before he found his words. "What? Why not?"

The professor crossed his arms. "I tolerated the silly games you two would get up to for a long time. But after that horrible incident I swore that if you ever began speaking to him again I'd put a stop to it. I'm sorry, son, but you must ask your friend and his bizarre excuse for a pet to leave."

Dib shook his head. "No, Dad, please, we're past that now! It was all just a big mistake, he didn't mean…" he looked down at his left side. "For any of this to happen. I swear." He supposed it was, at least, a half-truth.

"It doesn't matter whether or not he meant for it to happen. He still led you into a dangerous situation in which you nearly…" he hesitated, then reached out and put a gloved hand on Dib's shoulder. "I already lost your mother, Dib. I won't lose you, too."

"Dad…" Dib said. Once again, he couldn't think of any comforting words to respond with. Just as he tried to speak, he saw the professor's head shift slightly upward; he turned around and saw Zim standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Sorry Zim, can you give us a few minutes?" Dib asked.

Zim's eyes flickered to Dib before settling back on the professor. He strode forward in his most confident military goosestep, fists clenched, and came to a stop a few feet away from them. Then he reached up and Dib's lungs pressed in on themselves like a silent accordion.

Zim took off his wig, letting his antennae slowly rise up from his skull. He dropped it to the floor and took out his contacts, one in each hand, setting them atop his wig. Then he planted his hands on his hips and threw a challenging look up at the professor.

Dib's attention had been frozen on Zim, but now his head turned slowly toward his father. He couldn't read his expression behind the high collar and goggles, but something in his posture and the way his fingers spread wide apart told Dib that he was throttled by astonishment.

"Well, come on, the great Zim isn't going to pose for you all day," Zim said.

"You—you're," the professor stuttered. It wasn't often that something got him truly flustered.

"He's an alien, Dad," Dib said.

Membrane's head snapped back toward Dib. "B-but that's scientifically impossible!"

"To your human science, perhaps," Zim interjected. "But, I assure you, this universe is far more complex than your brain meats could even _begin_ to fathom."

The professor kept his attention on Dib. "You knew. All this time."

"Yeah," Dib said. "From day one."

The professor raised a hand to his temple. "All these years, you've been trying to tell me and I…ignored you."

"Uh," Dib said, putting a hand on the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"Geez, gimme some credit," Gaz said, leaning on the kitchen doorframe. "I knew about it, too."

"She did," Zim said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"ME TOO," GIR shrieked, holding onto Gaz's leg. She shook him off and he tumbled to the floor laughing.

"Oh, yeah, he's not a dog," Zim said. "Tell him, GIR."

"I'M A CHICKEN!" GIR shouted.

"No, you're not," Zim said. "We've been over this."

"I'M A MONKEY!" GIR yelled.

"He's my robotic assistant," Zim said, exasperated. "Now, shed your doggy disguise, GIR!"

"SAY IT!"

"No, GIR, not this—,"

"SAY IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

Zim sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes. "GIR. Get nakey."

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" GIR cheered, leaping out of his disguise to reveal his true form. He rushed at the professor and clawed his way up the white lab coat, choosing one of the professor's outstretched arms to dangle from as he laughed maniacally.

"Unbelievable," Membrane said, lifting his arm higher to get a better look at GIR. "To think that such an advanced technology could be so _insane!_ Son, I see now that you were telling the truth all these years. Would you like to do the honors of prying this AI's head open so we can study what's inside together?"

Dib saw Zim's antennae spring up and quickly reached out to pluck GIR off of his father's sleeve, setting him down so he could rush back to Zim. "We can't do that, Dad. Years ago—hell, even a few weeks ago, I would've said yes before you even finished your sentence. But…no. I can't."

"I don't understand," the professor said. "For years you've gone on about how this…person…is an extraterrestrial being that you wanted to expose for the good of the planet. Why have you changed your mind?"

Dib addressed his father but looked at Zim as he spoke. "Because…even though he's an alien, and he really screwed me up, he's my friend. If something horrible happened to him or GIR…I dunno, it would feel like losing another arm and leg. Except I don't think I'd be able to recover this time."

Zim's antennae slowly sank back down from their aggressive forward position. All of his features seemed to have relaxed and the magenta eyes had a high shine to them that Dib had never seen before. Was the alien moved by his words, a statement of true caring that no one had ever offered him before? He gave him a small smile, causing Zim to quickly shift his gaze to the floor.

Then Gaz sighed. "Ugh, what a Hallmark moment."

"This is much more serious than a greeting card, Gaz," the professor said, putting a hand to his chin. "I am experiencing a great conflict of interest. As a scientist, I am dedicated to furthering humanity's collective knowledge of the universe, so to leave this lifeform unstudied goes against my inherent values. But as a father, I cannot destroy something that my child cherishes for my own personal gain," he clenched a fist and growled. _"Why_ did you have to reveal your true form to me, alien?"

"Because you possess technologies I need," Zim said, missing that the question was rhetorical. "The house that exploded was actually my base, set to destruct by my leaders. My ship was destroyed along with it. And from listening in on your conversation, I knew that I would have to take drastic measures to persuade you into allowing me to stay here, use your labs, and build a _new_ ship so that I may leave this planet forever."

"What?" Dib gasped.

"I knew the risk that such a move entailed," Zim continued. "You are a prominent Earth scientist, so of course you would want to examine a perfect alien specimen such as myself. However, if you value your smeet's feelings, you will grant me access to your labs so that I may leave this planet quietly. Then you can pretend none of this ever happened or, if curiosity should continue to gnaw at you, start an excavation at my base's blast site to see if any Irken technology can be recovered for study. Now, are these terms amenable or does Zim have to order GIR to do something really nasty?"

"Ooooo, _nasty!"_ GIR said in an excited whisper.

"Zim, what—," Dib began.

"I will not allow you to use my labs," the professor said. "They contain too much sensitive information about humanity's forthcoming technology. But I _will_ allow you to stay here and tinker with the strange ship my son keeps in the garage. I never believed that it was of extraterrestrial origin like he insisted…until now."

Zim shot a look at Dib. "Since when do _you_ have a ship, Dib-monkey?"

"It was Tak's, remember?" Dib said. "But, Zim—,"

"Tak, Tak…sounds familiar, but I can't place it," Zim said, tapping his foot. "Oh well! If it's a ship it's a ship, and a ship is my way off of this miserable rock. Let's get to work immediately!" he said, marching off across the kitchen. He stopped. "Eh…where is this _garage_ you mentioned?"

Gaz pointed toward the back door and Zim turned on his heel and resumed his march to the exit, dragging GIR with him. The door slammed behind him, leaving the Membrane family in a void of silence. Instead of addressing the years of neglect he and his father needed to make up for, Dib rushed outside after Zim. It felt less frightening to be with the alien than to stand in his kitchen with the fridge and the microwave and the table and his sister and his father closing in on him like he was the one they wanted to dissect for the sake of understanding.


	23. Chapter 23

Zim was already yanking the dusty tarp off of Tak's ship when Dib caught up to him in the garage. GIR made a sound of wonder as Zim put a gloved hand onto one of the ship's thrusters—the blue paint Dib had adorned it with long ago was chipping off to reveal the original deep red underneath.

"You need to explain what the hell all that was," Dib said.

"If you were paying attention, you wouldn't be asking that question," Zim said, rubbing chalky paint between his thumb and forefinger. "I explained it in direct, simple terms to your paternal unit."

"Yeah, dumbass, I caught the part about you leaving the planet forever," Dib growled. "But _why?_ All this time you've been bitching about me wanting to go away and now you're just _leaving?_ Guess it doesn't matter as long as it's what _you_ want."

Zim turned his attention to Dib, creases forming between his true eyes. "You clearly do not understand the necessity of my departure. My PAK—,"

"If it's your PAK you're worried about, have my dad look at it!" Dib yelled, feeling his face grow hotter with each passing second. "You acknowledged that he's a great scientist. If anyone on Earth could figure out what's wrong with it, it's him. Then you wouldn't have to leave!"

"Your father mentioned that his labs contain sensitive information," Zim said. "So does my PAK. I won't allow some _human_ to go rooting around in the core of my being as an Irken."

"Oh, what, are you scared he's gonna learn that you're a defective laughingstock who never should've been sent here in the first place?" Dib spat.

Zim drew back and Dib felt the words tumble into his stomach like an avalanche. The alien crossed his arms. "Is that what you think of Zim?"

Dib shook his head, swallowing, and tried to speak again.

"If you allowed me to finish, you would have heard the second reason I must leave this planet," Zim said. "If my leaders truly want me erased, they will come to Earth to see that their last attempt finished the job. If they bring the armada, there will be no college left for you to go away to. So unless you want me to indirectly complete my mission of destroying your world, I need to go. Don't get the wrong idea: I would love to stay and see this planet crumble. But, if it meant you would crumble along with it…I suppose it would…make GIR sad."

"No it wouldn't!" GIR said.

Zim sighed. "Well…it wouldn't sit well in my squeedlyspooch. And with how often I have to eat now, I can't have it upset. I hate flying while nauseated."

"Zim, I'm sorry," Dib said.

"Of course you are, now that you see how _selfless_ Zim is being on your behalf," Zim said, turning back to the ship.

"No, really," Dib said. He walked to Zim and put a hand on his thin shoulder, which was promptly smacked away. "I shouldn't have said that. Sometimes humans say things in anger they don't mean. It's a flaw of the species."

"On the contrary, I believe anger is the best conduit for the truth," Zim said. "Now get out. I have to get all this nasty blue crud off the ship."

Dib felt like a dog that had been smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. He wanted to keep arguing, to make Zim see that he was telling the truth. But he knew the stubborn alien would either refuse to acknowledge him or try to physically force him out of the garage, so he left. He needed to unpack his traveling bags anyway.

He didn't expect to find his father opening the trunk of his car.

"I'll help bring your things inside," the professor said.

"Okay," Dib said. He went to the trunk and tossed his overnight bag over his shoulder, his father taking the two heavier suitcases. _So much for alone time_ , he thought.

Dib opened the door to his room—everything was exactly where he left it, but again the space he knew so well felt strange to him. He noticed the smell of it now, which he'd never been aware of before. He made a mental note to open some windows and let the place air out.

A dull thunk came from behind him as his father set down the suitcases. Then the creak of rubber gloves as he clasped his hands together. Dib tossed the overnight bag onto his bed and faced him.

The professor was looking at the wall above Dib's computer desk; as a child, Dib had plastered it with pictures of the paranormal, categorized in a way only he could understand, with push pins driven into the photos and multicolored yarn connecting what he had deemed connected. Most prominent was the red yarn, which constellated itself to dozens of blurry shots of Zim.

"I always thought it was madness," his father said, plucking a red strand with his finger. "But it was dedication, just like my own to the hard sciences. Because of it, you made a discovery greater than any I could ever hope to find in my own work."

"We don't have to do this right now, you know," Dib said, his natural hand clenching and unclenching.

"Yes we do," the professor said. "Or we never will. My greatest regrets in life stem from not having conversations when they needed to happen. I won't allow myself to reach the end of my life only to realize I never acknowledged my own son. I already made that mistake once."

Dib swallowed. "Okay, well…thanks? It's not like I even convinced you—Zim's the one who exposed himself."

The professor rushed forward and gripped Dib hard by his upper arms. "But, don't you see? _That_ is why I need to acknowledge you! I didn't want to see what you saw because it reminded me too much of the fantastical nonsense your mother would carry on about, and in my bitterness, I became blind to you. I've missed so much—too much—and I need you to understand that—," he cut himself off, reaching up to yank his goggles off. Dib couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his father's eyes, and yet they were finally something that felt familiar; a mirror-image of his own.

"From now on, I will always _see_ you," he finished. Then he pulled his son into his arms and Dib found himself breathing in the metallic scent of his father's lab coat, mixed with a hint of lavender from a recent wash. He reached up and tentatively put his hands on his father's back, softly at first, but as the tears came he balled the starchy material in his fists, prosthetic and all. He couldn't believe how much he'd cried in the last week and didn't necessarily want to continue the trend, but it felt like lots of clogs inside himself were finally being washed away. Then his exhausted brain threw a random memory before him of sitting on the couch with Gaz and watching the frequently played local ad for "Super Plumber," who liked to demonstrate his piping prowess with chemicals and a drain snake, all while wearing a cape the size of a dish towel. The image and the jingle played on repeat, slowing his tears and slackening his face until it felt like mush. His father loosened his grip.

"You ought to rest now," the professor said. "It's been a long journey and you look very tired."

Dib nodded, sitting down on his bed.

"Your sister will check on you in a few hours," he said. "I'll be down in the lab working and monitoring the movements of your…friend."

Dib nodded again and laid down. His father clicked off the light and shut the door. Dib fell asleep within seconds and dreamed about wads of red yarn being yanked from a bathtub drain by a long, barbed line of plastic.

* * *

 **Author Note: Yay, a nice father/son moment! I like to think of the Professor as aloof and obsessed with his work rather than downright mean or consciously neglectful of Dib and Gaz. Maybe I'll write future stories where his character is a bit darker :)**

 **I think the next time I post will be the end of the story - 3 chapters instead of the usual 2! And as always, thanks for the reviews! They make me feel warm and fuzzy, like a freshly laundered pair of socks.**


	24. Chapter 24

It had been nearly five in the evening when Dib fell asleep. When he woke up, it was just past 2:00 AM. He was disoriented as he flipped on his bedside lamp to find himself in his room with his regular clothes still on, boots and glasses included, like he'd just woken up from a long, strange dream. He was parched, so he got up for a glass of water and downed two and a half. As he drank, he could see light leaking onto the snowy lawn from beneath the partially opened garage door. Deciding he'd given Zim enough alone time, he ventured outside.

Zim had finished scraping away his old blue paint job, and the original deep reds of Tak's ship shone beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. Like a mechanic, Zim was underneath the ship with his dusty legs sticking out on the dustier floor. GIR was sitting on a stool playing one of Gaz's old Game Slaves—she must have had a heart and given it to him so Zim could work in relative peace.

Dib cleared his throat. "How's it going?"

A thud followed by a clatter like a tool hitting the ground sounded from beneath the ship, along with a shout of surprise and pain. Zim shoved himself out and sprang to his feet, rubbing his head with one hand and dusting his tunic off with the other.

"GIR! I told you to alert me of intruders!" he scolded.

GIR glanced up from his game, eyes narrowing and going red. "INTRUDER!" he shouted. Then he switched back to blue and continued button-mashing.

Zim gave an exasperated groan and marched toward Dib, waving his hands. "Out! No nasty humans in my base!"

Dib stayed put. "You're in my garage, Zim."

Zim was winding up a punch but stopped and let the hand drop. He shook his head, antennae bobbing up and down as he reoriented himself. "Well, duh, I'd never let my base get this _filthy!"_ He shot a glare up at Dib. "What do you want?"

Dib shrugged. "Woke up, thought I'd check on you."

"Yes, because you know how much Zim _loves_ interruptions," Zim said. He went back to the ship, muttering under his breath.

Dib just rolled his eyes. "You've been at it this whole time?"

"Yes," Zim said shortly, reaching for his dropped tool.

"You hungry or anything?"

"Gaz gave us your share of the pizza she ordered."

"Greasy piggy pizza!" GIR added.

Dib noticed the pizza box on the table next to GIR. His stomach whined at the thought of filling it with familiar food.

Zim growled in frustration, straightening back up. "If you're going to be in here annoying me, you might as well be useful. Get me that wrench thingy I dropped."

Dib sighed and went to the ship, getting down on his hands and knees and peering beneath the ship for the wrench (or whatever tool Zim had decided to call a wrench). He found a crowbar near the other side of the ship and stretched to grab it. As he brought it out, he bumped something on the ship's hull. It made a light click.

The cockpit of the ship suddenly became transparent, a series of lights on the control panel twinkling to life. The engines and inner mechanisms rumbled, the body of the ship groaning deeply like it was stretching after an overlong sleep.

And then Tak's metallic voice spoke from within. "Where…where am I? What's going on?"

"How is it you manage to screw up even the _simplest_ of tasks, stink-beast?" Zim hissed at Dib.

"I did a better job than you, shit-for-brains! The ship's alive!" Dib shouted back.

An angry, ceaseless alarm sounded from the ship, but even though Dib covered his ears, he could still hear Zim yell, "I was keeping it dead for a reason!"

"The pig-child! And _Zim!"_ the Tak-ship said, alarm still screeching. "Whatever plans of torture you've arranged for me now, they aren't happening!"

"If you shut off that infernal shrieking I'll explain!" Zim roared, clutching his antennae against his skull.

The ship conceded but brought out it's sharp side appendages in a warning, defensive position. "Proceed," she said.

"Zim needs no ship's permission," Zim muttered. "Now listen. You have an obligation as an Irken machine to serve an Irken master, and since I defeated your master and I'm the only other Irken around for light-years, you are now going to serve _me._ I would've preferred to eradicate that horrid personality from your memory banks before booting you up, but since this useless Earth-monkey _literally_ threw a wrench in my plans, we're going to have to cooperate."

"Cooperate? With _you?"_ the ship laughed. "I'd rather serve the idiot Earth-child than the likes of a defective!"

"Will you both quit calling me stupid?" Dib groaned.

"No," Zim and the ship said in unison. Zim's antennae shot up and the ship shifted its position slightly downward.

"See, there are _some_ things we can agree on," Zim said.

"That doesn't mean anything," she muttered. "I'd rather tear myself apart bolt by bolt than have _you_ as a pilot."

"You _blasted—,"_

"Ship, Zim's in a bad situation," Dib cut in. "His PAK was damaged in an Existence Evaluation and now the Tallest might be coming here to kill him."

"Oh, _really?"_ she said. "Well, now we're _definitely_ not leaving Earth—I don't want to miss that!"

"Thanks for the help, _Dib,"_ Zim growled.

"Come on, ship, is there anything that would convince you to get him out of here?" Dib said.

"And destroy my chance at finally seeing this welp get the agonizing death he deserves? Never! Well…unless…" the ship appeared to deliberate, raising a sharp appendage and tapping it on the base of its glass-domed cockpit. "I suppose there is _one_ thing, but I'm only offering because you'll never agree to it: return me to my rightful owner, Tak."

"No! No way! I'm not bartering with a hunk of metal, especially if it's going to be this _unreasonable!"_ Zim yelled.

"That's…not all that unreasonable, Zim," Dib said. "And if you really wanna leave Earth, you've gotta do it. Unless you'd rather stay here and have my dad look at your PAK."

Zim's eyes narrowed and with an angry bark he began pacing the width of the garage, clutching his chin in thought. Dib was about to speak up again when Zim stopped again in front of the ship, arms crossed.

"Is there anything, _anything_ else that would convince you?" Zim asked.

"No," the ship said.

"What if I took you to see the universe's largest donut?"

"Already seen it."

"What about the universe's largest donut _hole?"_

"What?"

Zim took on the tone of a used car salesman. _"Yes_ , it's the most mysterious of all the galaxy's oversized confectionery treats because it looks just like a regular asteroid. But they say the rewards for the lucky beings that find it will be _very_ sweet."

"So you don't actually know where it is?"

"No."

"Then, no," the ship said.

Zim nearly unhinged his jaw in the beginnings of a scream, but Dib interrupted again. "No, no more yelling! Listen, Zim, maybe finding Tak wouldn't be so bad. From what you've told me about her, I don't think you two are all that different. You've both been treated like shit by your leaders, no matter how hard you tried to prove yourselves. Maybe working together you guys could, I dunno, make a change for your people. Or something."

"Ha!" Zim laughed. "I may be defective, but I'm no traitor!"

"Says the Irken who plunged our home planet into chaos. _Twice,"_ the ship said.

"Thus proving what an amazing asset I could be to my Empire!" Zim shot back.

"You're just gonna have to do what she wants," Dib said, losing patience. "Otherwise, you're doomed."

"Yay, doom!" GIR, who had been paying no attention the entire time, said. "Oh, master, the ship's on!"

"What would I do without you, GIR?" Zim sighed. Then he clenched his fists and turned back to the ship. "Alright, ship. You leave me no choice. If you allow me to pilot you to a place where I can find the necessary assistance for my PAK, I will return you to your master. Wherever she is."

"Oh," the ship said. "Well, this backfired. I'd really rather see you get your ocular implants yanked out by the Tallest than travel the galaxy with you. But, then again, I'm sure the _real_ Tak would love to be in attendance of that glorious execution. So I guess we have a deal."

"Wonderful," Zim said. "Now, do me a favor and run a diagnostic on yourself so I can find out how many mistakes this worm-child has made in your innards over the years. Dib, get out before you cause me any more trouble."

"You're _welcome,"_ Dib scoffed. Banished from his own garage for the second time in less than twelve hours, he went back inside to try again at sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Dib woke up still angry at about 8 in the morning and decided to take as long as possible getting ready before attempting conversation with Zim again. He took a long shower, tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry, and put away his other travel supplies. Then, because it needed it, he spent the rest of the morning and half the afternoon doing a deep clean of his room. Finally, when he could think of nothing else to do, he marched out to the garage.

Except Zim had taken the ship out of the garage and looked like he was getting ready to hop in and blast off at any second.

"Hey!" Dib yelled. "What the hell? You're _done?_ And you're just gonna _leave?"_

"Yeah, what of it?" Zim asked, tossing a bag of candy into the cockpit so GIR would chase after it. "I've had enough of this lousy rock."

"And sticking around a few extra minutes to say goodbye would've been that painful?" Dib asked.

"Yes," Zim said.

Dib stamped his foot, sending it deeper into the ice-crusted snow. "You're such a jackass! How can you _still_ treat me like shit after everything I did for you?"

"Are you referring to how you dragged me back and forth across the continent in the foulest-smelling, most tedious way possible and shoved my head in a toilet? Because I think that justifies my swift departure," Zim said. "I don't even know why I'm explaining myself to a worm-baby like you."

Dib's pulse throbbed angrily in his jaw, but he knew he had to choose his words carefully—if he blew a fuse like yesterday, Zim would be gone in a flash. "I know you're mad at me because of what I said in the garage. I shouldn't have said it, but I did, and I'm sorry. I'm just…angry. You're leaving and you didn't even try to find another way."

"Neither did you," Zim said.

"That's not even remotely the same," Dib said. Zim's words stung, so his own came out harsher than he wanted. "And, anyway, I told you I'd consider going to school nearby so we could still see each other. I changed my _entire_ life plan to make you feel better."

"So you fell victim to Zim's persuasiveness, big deal," Zim said. "Am I supposed to feel bad now?"

"Maybe, yeah!" Dib said. "I don't understand what you want! What was the point of going on that trip and getting me to talk to you again if you're just gonna retcon everything by leaving?"

"I think you might be forgetting a small detail, Dib: my base exploded and now I only have GIR and this ship. There's nothing left for me here," Zim said.

"Well, _you're_ forgetting a small detail, too, Zim," Dib said. "We're friends now and that means we can work together to figure something out. You have me and Gaz and my dad to help you, so if you just stay—,"

"Stop it!" Zim yelled, suddenly angry. "Stop it, stop it, _stop it!"_

"Stop _what?"_ Dib yelled back.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST WANT ME GONE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE?" Zim said, clutching his head in his hands.

It clicked in Dib's brain: Zim didn't want to leave. Leaving meant that his mission, fake or not, was a failure. Leaving meant he had to accept that his base, his home, had been destroyed and that the Empire he'd thought was home for so long wouldn't take him back. Leaving meant he'd have to say goodbye to someone who accidentally became his friend. And it was tearing him apart, which in itself was a failure.

As much as he wanted Zim to stay, Dib knew he couldn't force him. And that he shouldn't. If there was one thing he learned from his trip with Zim, it was that truly being a friend meant supporting someone through hard decisions—even decisions that packed your bags and flung you to the opposite corner of the galaxy. It wasn't a concept Zim understood. But Dib could help him learn through example.

Dib walked to his car and rummaged in the backseat for his mother's collection of CDs. He returned to Zim, who was still in a clenched position by the ship, and knelt next to him in the snow.

"I want you to take these with you," he said.

Zim's eyes popped open. "What?"

"Don't say anything mean," Dib said. "Just take it."

Zim hesitantly reached forward, grimacing at the old leather case. "Why?" he asked.

Dib sighed. "Even though I haven't had this for long, it means a lot to me. But I think I need to let it go. Plus, I figure you're pretty used to having music during long trips. You'll make better use of it than me."

"You think that ship has technology primitive enough to activate these silly discs?" Zim scoffed.

"You'll figure something out. It'll be a fun project to work on until you get…wherever you're going," Dib said.

Zim sighed, lowering the case. "Why must you always burden me with your garbage, Dib-stink?"

"It's kinda my job at this point," Dib said.

Zim stepped into the ship and stowed the case somewhere Dib couldn't see. GIR made an excited, gargling noise that suggested his mouth was gummed up with candy. When Zim reappeared in the cockpit, he didn't exit the ship. Dib thought his expression must look pathetic, because Zim glanced awkwardly off to the side before speaking.

"You know…once I figure out how to fix my PAK, I'll be a fully functional soldier again. Empire or no, I may return to my mission for this planet. I can't deny my Invader's blood," Zim said.

"Sure. And I'll be waiting," Dib said.

"Good," Zim said. For a few moments it was quiet, aside from the empty wind and a distant black bird's caw.

"Hey, you should give me something in return," Dib said.

"How do you keep forgetting that all my things blew up?" Zim asked.

Dib snapped his fingers. "Let me take a picture of you! A good, not-blurry picture. It's something I've always wanted."

Zim smiled faintly. "Yes. You may take your silly photograph."

"Great!" Dib said. "Be right back!"

Dib rushed into the house and up the stairs to his room, seeking out his camera. It took a moment to find, his room's new lemon-scented organization running counter to its purpose. Then it was back outside and onto the lawn. The empty lawn with grassy patches where thrusters had melted their way through the snow.

Dib looked up. It had finally stopped snowing, so he could see the ship's shining arc as it grew smaller and smaller in the open sky—so small, it could've just been a regular passenger plane carrying people somewhere new, or maybe back home. It was hard to say, from his earthbound position in his insignificant backyard. Maybe someday he'd figure it out.


	26. Epilogue

"Alright, you need to explain what all that was about," the ship said.

Zim ignored the voice, watching the pale blue dot of the Earth shrink in the blackness. They'd watched a film about the cosmos in school once, where the narrator had referred to the planet with those words—pale blue dot, suspended on a sunbeam. Humans loved to think about how tiny they were in the grand scope of the universe. It was something Zim had never understood.

"Hey, do you want me to eject you into the void? Answer me," the ship barked.

"He is a smeet," Zim said. "A human smeet, naive and fragile. I thought it would be easier to leave him with the notion that I'd be coming back."

"You really are defective," the ship said. "And weak—trying to make this about him when _you're_ the one foolish enough to make ties you're too cowardly to sever."

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," Zim said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his entire body relax. The last frayed wires of his PAK released and the metal hemisphere fell loose, its lethargic glow at last going dark. He leaned back and the pilot's chair suddenly wasn't as comfortable—it was designed to accommodate the curvature of a PAK, not the flat, empty plane of unburdened shoulder blades.

"W-what are you doing?" the ship screeched. "Put that back right now! I refuse to reach my master with a dead body in my cockpit!"

"I think it'll make her happy," Zim said. "Two gifts in one: her ship and my corpse."

"What about me?" GIR asked cheerfully. He had finished the candy and was hammering away at the Game Slave Gaz had given him again.

"I'm sure there's _some_ part of you she could find useful," Zim said. GIR cheered.

A beam of light shot out of the tile on the ship's floor where the PAK had landed, suspending it midair while it analyzed. The light shut off and the husk clattered back to the ground.

"How long has it been in such poor condition?" the ship asked, incredulous.

Zim could feel the fog that had been suspended in his mind for the past several months thickening by the second. "The Existence Evaluation reduced its functions to 50%. After the hard destruct of my base, it was cut in half again."

"Hard destruct? How did you survive?" the ship asked, fully aware that a hard destruct's functions affected not just the base, but the Irken's PAK as well.

"That's a mystery I'll never solve," Zim said. "Perhaps it was rendered less effective because of my distance from the base when it occurred. I'm too tired to think about it."

Despite having no lungs, the ship sighed. "Given your track record, I suppose it makes sense that the only being capable of destroying you is you. Though, it does pain me to know Tak and the Tallest couldn't have done it, or at least seen it."

"Zim would never give any of you the satisfaction," Zim said, attempting to laugh. His mouth felt numb. He reached weakly to the dashboard, tapping a button to reopen the storage cell containing Dib's CD case. He retrieved it, running his gloved hands over the time-smoothed leather. Funny, he thought, how humans claimed to love their fellow animals so much but then made clothing, furniture and miscellaneous items from their dyed flesh. It was one of the things that made Zim believe humans could contend with Irkens for the title of "Most Brutal" should they ever stumble their way to the stars.

But then he opened the case and saw the hundreds upon hundreds of songs about love and, with his fleeting brainpower, reconsidered. He plucked a CD out at random the way Dib had done so many times before him.

"It's too quiet," Zim said. "Figure out a way to play this. And pick a song that's not _completely_ idiotic."

"You're terrible," the ship said. But when Zim shoved the disc into a slot of similar size, it found a way to make do.

The song wasn't abhorrent. The electronic beats reminded Zim's near-hallucinatory brain of being surrounded by the whirs and beeps of mechanisms in an Irken laboratory from his days as a scientist, long ago. He couldn't tell if the echoing voice was an effect of the song or his deteriorating ability to hear.

He wished he would've had more time to tell Dib about those faraway times. He wished he would've even just waited a few more minutes and let the boy take his photo, but the ship was right; he'd been too afraid of the sting of saying goodbye. But even without a photograph, and even with his feeble human brain, Zim was certain Dib wouldn't forget him. It comforted him to know that, even though he'd gone wrong at every turn in his life, there was at least one person who would think of him and feel something not completely horrible; sort of like trying a new food that seems weird, but then thinking, _hey, this isn't bad_ while chewing it. And also not throwing up later.

Outside the cockpit the Earth had vanished, and soon their sun would be just another star in the midst of millions. Not long ago, traveling a smooth supersonic path across the galaxy would've felt right and purposeful, but now Zim just felt like he was suspended in a sensory deprivation chamber. He shut his eyes and tried to feel the vibration of an engine and rubber wheels along uneven asphalt, the jolt of an occasional pothole. He tried to smell the tang of gasoline and the staleness of warm, too-dry recycled air. He imagined looking to his left and finding he wasn't alone on this long, dark ride. White flecks of snow fell past and were swiped away by windshield wipers. They were both tired, but the music helped distract them from their boring, uncomfortable voyage. Just a few more miles—then they could stop and rest.

The End

* * *

 **Author Note: If you're interested in listening, the song is "The Lights Go Down" by ELO.**

 **Also there's totally a sequel in the works. It might be a little while before I start posting it (a month or two maybe?), so if you like this follow me and sit tight for updates!**

 **Thanks so much for all the reviews! I'd love to hear what you guys thought of the ending! It seriously means a lot, because I really wasn't sure if I wanted to put this story out in the open due to *~*writer insecurities*~* but you all gave me great thoughts and the motivation to keep on truckin'. I can't wait to let you see what happens next! TTFN!**


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